


In/Exhale - Season 1

by chiealeman



Category: Original Work
Genre: American Sign Language, Angst, Anxiety, Asthma, Brain Damage, Chronic Illness, Chronic Pain, College, Coming of Age, Deaf Character, Deaf community, Depression, Diabetes, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Ensemble Cast, F/M, Fictional Disease, Flashbacks, Gen, Hospitalization, Hurt/Comfort, Melodrama, Nightmares, Panic Attacks, Past Child Abuse, Physical Disability, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Self-Harm, Slice of Life, Slow Burn, Small Towns, Suicide, Tags May Change, Therapy, post-transplant
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-12-09
Updated: 2021-01-13
Packaged: 2021-02-25 23:55:13
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 79,639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21574096
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chiealeman/pseuds/chiealeman
Summary: Welcome to Jonesville, Iowa and the story of two brothers: Jon Taylor, MD, and Kai Fox. Sixteen years ago, their family was torn apart after a sudden accident. Finally, four years later, the brothers reunited only for Kai’s health to fail. A lung transplant saved his life, but now, a year after, both brothers are struggling to deal with their new reality. Follow their stories and those of their friends as they battle their pasts to deal with life, love, and the meaning of family.
Relationships: Original Female Character/Original Male Character
Comments: 4
Kudos: 19





	1. August 21, 2000

**Author's Note:**

> (Long note ahead!)
> 
> This is a special story, one I have written for myself for decades; I first created Kai when I was a kid. He is my alter ego, of sorts, and writing his story helped me process a lot of difficult emotions and situations that I had no other way of dealing with. He literally helped me survive my childhood, and even as an adult, he is always teaching me new things about myself.
> 
> In 2012, I showed a friend some of what I had written and she suggested that I consider sharing it publicly. This was a big deal considering how personal and private the story had always been, but she was insistent, and so I sat down to try to figure out how I could produce a version of the story that would make sense. Needless to say, it took me a while to get my sea legs, so to speak. It isn't easy taking 20 years of a story and trying to drop people into the middle of it and have it make sense.
> 
> I tried my best, deciding to start this version of the story in 2000, when Kai is attempting to go back to college after recovering from his lung transplant. I picked this point in time because it's a real turning point in the story for him, and would allow the readers to witness him as he grows and matures and finds love, among other things.  
> Recently, another friend suggested I post the story here, to see if I can reach a larger audience. I was hesitant since it's so old, but enough people expressed interest that here it is.
> 
> **Some important things you should know before reading this:**  
>  1) This is an original work, not fan fiction  
>   
> 2) I originally posted it online in serial form (like fan fics), so it doesn't have a traditional "novel" structure  
>   
> 3) I originally wrote this in ~2012, and while it's been edited, I’m not rewriting (so be kind)  
>   
> 4) I try to keep things realistic & medically accurate to a degree, but I’ve taken some liberties  
>   
> 5) It gets better with each episode  
>   
> 6) Originally, each chapter ("day") was broken down into shorter episodes, but I'll try to post in larger chunks here unless it's just way too much at once  
>   
> 7) I will update regularly, possibly every week if I have the time/spoons to do the formatting, since the fic is already written, but subscribe if you want to be sure you don't miss an update.  
>   
> I promise I won't normally have long author notes like this!!  
>   
> Thank you for reading, and please let me know if you enjoy this!

> _“With every breath, the old moment is lost; a new moment arrives. We exhale and we let go of the old moment. It is lost to us. In doing so, we let go of the person we used to be. We inhale and breathe in the moment that is becoming. In doing so, we welcome the person we are becoming. We repeat the process. This is meditation. This is renewal. This is life.”_  
>  ― [Lama Surya Das](https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/7587879.Lama_Surya_Das), _[Letting Go Of The Person You Used To Be](https://www.goodreads.com/work/quotes/27937314)_

* * *

  
"Do you have your cell phone?" Jon stood in front of Kai in the small kitchen of their shared apartment, stuffing papers into his briefcase, his white coat bunched up on the counter beside it, his slightly damp medium-length wheat-colored hair uncombed and frazzled.

"Yes," Kai sighed, leaning on his crutches. Unlike his brother, who always seemed to have his mind occupied, considering his appearance secondary to his work, Kai was dressed neatly in a short-sleeved button-up and jeans, making sure the collar hid the remains of his tracheostomy scar. He wasn't ashamed of it, like his other scars, but it was ugly and a bit intimidating and college was supposed to be a fresh start. He didn't need everyone immediately zoning in on the pink navel-like scar on his neck and asking questions.

"And your inhaler?"

Kai shifted his weight and tried not to sigh again. He knew his brother worried, and he was just trying to tell Kai without so many words that he loved him and hoped his first day of classes went well.

"I haven't had an attack since the transplant," Kai reminded him.

"I know," Jon said, distracted for a moment as if he'd forgotten what he was doing. After a pause, he shrugged, shut his briefcase, and slipped on the strap. "But you're the only patient we know of with confirmed FS who had a successful lung transplant of any kind. It's impossible to say how your body will react." Jon snatched his white coat and flung it over his shoulder. "I'd just feel better if you had your rescue inhaler with you, just in case."

Kai adjusted his weight, slipped his right hand off the grip and pushed it into his pocket, pulling out an inhaler just enough for Jon to see it, before shoving it back in. "I'll be fine, Jon."

Jon frowned, his thin lips pursing together, but he nodded.

"I'd tell you to relax, but I don't think you understand the meaning of the word."

Jon's frown deepened. He managed to free one hand enough to place it on Kai's shoulder. He could hardly believe his little brother was actually taller than him by an inch or two. Glancing at Kai's crutches, he added, "I know Troy said you could go without those for a while, but don't overdo it, OK?"

Kai sighed. "Yes, **Dad**. I promise. If you promise to make sure you eat." It was Kai's turn to frown as he noticed Jon was leaving the apartment yet again without eating or even drinking anything. "Doctors really do make the worst patients," Kai muttered as Jon headed out the door.

"I'll probably be home late, but page me if you need anything," Jon called just before Kai heard the front door slam.

* * *

It wasn't his first time on campus, or even his first college class, but a flutter of nervousness still floated in his stomach as Kai pulled into the closest available handicapped space to Thomas Hall, where he had his first two classes. Kai sat in his car for a moment, the engine tinking as it cooled down, his eyes shut, focusing. This time would be different, he told himself. _He_ was different. As if to remind himself of the fact, he took a slow deep breath, letting it out easily. Kai opened his eyes one by one, noticing the students, all of them younger than him, milling about, bags slung over shoulders as they hurried off to their classes, and glanced over at his crutches. Troy, his physical therapist, had encouraged him to spend a few hours a day without them, and Kai was anxious for the anonymity not needing them would bring.

He was old enough now that probably none of the students would know him, and he'd have the chance to make new friendships, he hoped. The new start he desperately needed. Still, he hadn't yet tried to manage much without them outside of the apartment, and it made him nervous to leave them in the car. Kai sucked in a satisfyingly easy breath, grabbed his bag, and pushed the door open.

* * *

Jonesville University had a large campus, spread out over miles, with lots of space between buildings, with plenty of parking nestled around each one. Due to the intensity of the cold winters, and partially because the campus had expanded gradually over the years, it was a necessity for many students to bike or even drive to each class, and Kai was grateful for that fact, knowing he could never manage on his feet for long, especially if he couldn't rest in between.

The buildings of Jonesville U had been built over the years; the oldest, from the founding of the university, were a more traditional style--serious stone buildings that spoke to tradition and expectation of what a college should look like. The newer buildings ran the gamut from artistic and modern to plain and efficient. Thomas Hall had been built only ten years previously, and was five stories of square red brick that had little architectural character to its many square windows. But new meant the elevator almost never broke down, and didn't take an eternity to take you from the first to fifth floor, unlike Jones Hall, one of the oldest buildings on campus, named after Horatio Jones who'd founded the town.

Kai had been relieved he didn't have any classes there this year as he carefully entered the building, glad that no one seemed to notice him, even if he did have a slight limp from his weaker left leg. He'd hoped Troy could help him with it, but he knew it was gone. It was a small price to pay, and the AFO he wore helped. And it didn't really matter, if he could slip into a crowd like this and go completely unnoticed. It pushed a smile to his face as he stepped into the elevator. He hit the button for three and watched as a few other students mingled in. Freshmen, they looked like. They were only four years younger than him, but they looked so youthful. Kai sighed and leaned against the side of the car as the doors shut and they began to rise. Had he ever looked that young?

It only took a few minutes to reach the third floor, and Kai shuffled out behind a couple of cute girls. He wondered if he could ever bring himself to get close to someone again. Not just in bed--he had Nikki for that, and what they had was incredible--in fact, he planned on seeing her tonight after his classes. But growing up as an orphan in a home, he'd always dreamed of having a family someday. A wife whom he loved, and who loved him, some kids. Most of his life that had been as big a fantasy as flying, but then he'd met Becca. Becca, who he'd thought could maybe be the one, who would stick with him despite everything.

Kai felt his hands balling into fists as he wandered down the hall for his first class. _New start, new start_ , he thought, fighting his fingers' instinct to sign the words as he finally found room 312, shuffling in behind a few other students.

Room 312 was one of the large auditorium-style lecture halls on campus, with stadium seating leading up in tiered rows, divided into three sections by stairs. It was still early; class didn't start for at least another twenty minutes, so plenty of seats lay empty. Kai glanced at the front row, where there were gaps obviously intended for wheelchairs and sighed despite himself before turning his attention to the stairs and the far top back of the room. Troy had told him to push himself as far as he reasonably could, and although he had avoided stairs as a general rule for most of his life, he decided to give them a try.

Without his crutches or a handrail it was harder than it could have been, and halfway up Kai debated stopping. But he'd been trapped at the bottom of rooms like this so often in his life, and the thrill of his breath coming so easily even as his exhalations and inhalations grew quicker and shallower, encouraged him to keep going.

When he finally reached the top, he collapsed in the first available seat, staring down and reveling in his achievement. He knew it was silly, and it wasn't like he'd ever seen a mountain, but he realized this must be what it felt like to climb one and look down, admiring the view, knowing what you did to earn it. It wasn't the most practical seat for various reasons, and Kai wondered to himself if they had large lecture halls like this at Gallaudet, and if so, if they had some kind of camera and projection system so you could still see the professor's signs even from far up in the back row.

Although Kai had grown used to spoken language by now, and had even come to appreciate the benefits of not needing to use your hands to speak, he missed ASL terribly. Jon had lost most of his ASL fluency over the years they were apart, and Kai hadn't really kept in touch with David, his old roommate from County House, or any of the other kids he'd gone to school with before the state had forced him into the hearing high school. There'd been a few times while he was recovering after his transplant he'd considered looking David up, but that was part of his old life. Maybe if he were able to graduate he could become a teacher at the deaf school here—or maybe even somewhere else. The thought of leaving the town--the state--was exciting. Kai had lived in Jonesville his entire life, and although he loved the place--it was home—he wondered sometimes about the rest of the country, the rest of the world. Jon had traveled with his adopted father, had gone to college at some fancy school on the East coast, but he'd still come back home. And Kai knew, even if he somehow managed to leave Jonesville, that Jon never would leave again.

Kai was so lost in his own thoughts he hadn't realized a girl had sat down beside him. It was her smell that got him first; one of the things Kai had enjoyed most since he'd been extubated post-transplant was getting his sense of smell back. She smelled delicate and floral; he couldn't quite place the exact scent, but it was subtle and lovely. A body spray, perhaps, instead of a perfume. Certainly not pungent enough to provoke an attack if this had been before.

When he turned his head, he realized she'd been staring at him, and for a moment, he grew nervous. Had his collar dipped or come undone and she could see his trache scar? He knew it was kind of creepy looking, especially if you'd never seen anything like it before. Reflexively, he brought his fingers to his neck, and maybe she sensed she'd been staring, because she blinked, shook her head, and smiled.

"Sorry." She cleared her throat. "I'm Renee Poche," she said. Her voice was soft and sweet like her scent; clearly, she wasn't from the Midwest.

"Kai Fox," he replied, offering his hand, reluctantly dropping it from his throat.

She smiled. God, she had a beautiful smile. She was petite; it was hard to tell how tall now that they were sitting, but it was yet another indication that she wasn't from around here. Her hair was dark—almost black—and curly. Kai didn't know much about women, but it looked natural, her thick tendrils perfectly framing her face in a managed chaos he found entrancing despite the fact that Becca also had curly hair.

"That's an unusual name. You a freshman?" She asked as she pulled a notebook and pen out of her bag.

Kai flushed slightly, realizing how silly it was for his body to react this way. "Yeah." He couldn't manage to say more than that.

She flipped her desk out and laid her supplies on it, smiling the whole time. "I'm an architecture student, so my program's five years. I'm a second year right now. But I put off most of my core classes last year, so here I am."

Kai grinned despite himself. He wanted to touch her curls, feel their softness on his skin, never stop smelling her unique floral scent. His stomach churned and he knew immediately he wanted to know more about her--everything. Suddenly, his chest grew tight, and his face paled. No. This hadn't happened since. . . . Reflexively, he dropped his hand to his right pocket, feeling the inhaler beneath his palm.

"You OK?" Her face was so concerned and sincere, and she'd reached for him, placing a warm, tiny hand on his arm.

He stared at it, forced himself to take a few slow breaths, realizing he was OK. Maybe it was just nerves. How was it that this girl he hardly knew, whom he'd just met, could make him feel so off kilter? He eased his lips into a smile to reassure her and give backing to his words.

"Yeah. Sorry." He swallowed. "First day jitters, I guess," he added with a bit of a blush.

She laughed, a musical, lilting sound that made him grateful for his hearing. "So what classes are you taking this semester?"

Kai thought a moment. "World History I, English Comp, Intro to Philosophy, Intro to Psych." The professor had arrived and was setting up for the lecture, writing "World History I, H101, MILLER," on the white board.

"Cool," she said with that same warm smile. "Who do you have for Comp and Philosophy?"

Kai tilted his head, thinking for a moment. "I think it's Boer and . . . Mc-something."

"McAllen?"

Kai nodded. His left calf had begun to spasm slightly, enough to be painful but not so much he couldn't ignore it. "Yeah, I think that's right."

"Me too," she said. "I mean, I have those same classes. We should sit together in them, too."

Kai felt a warm flutter in his stomach. "I'd like that."

Renee looked as if she were about to say something else when the professor cleared his throat and began to speak.

"Welcome, ladies and gentleman, to World History I. This course will fulfill your common curriculum requirement, but only if you study hard and pass my exams."

Kai knew he should be taking notes, but he'd nearly forgotten himself, so entranced by Renee, so he fumbled for his bag to grab a notebook and his own pen. It could have been his imagination, but she seemed to be casting glances at him every few minutes, smiling the entire time.

"Many people ask, 'why study history?' Of course, the easy answer is 'because then we're doomed to repeat it.' However, I think life is far more complicated than that. I believe it's more that the past, however behind us it may seem, is never truly gone. It is always a part of us, and as much as we may like to forget that, not only can't we, we mustn't."

Kai knew Miller wasn’t speaking to him, couldn’t be speaking to him, but why did his words feel so personal? And why couldn’t one forget the past? Kai had done it before, shifting dark memories into the deep recesses of his brain, never talked about, never thought about. Why should now be any different?

* * *

Kai was grateful once again that Nikki lived in a first-floor apartment. Renee apparently preferred the back row in every class, which had meant far more stairs than Kai had anticipated, and his legs were sore. He couldn't decide which one ached more, his weaker, left leg, or his stronger, right leg for compensating for the left. He leaned heavily on his crutches as he waited for Nikki to answer.

The door opened, and Nikki stood, one hip cocked out, wearing nothing but boyshort panties and a tight-fitting babydoll tee that stopped a few inches above her navel, revealing her delicious flat belly. She smiled at him, licked her lips, then stepped back to allow him to enter.

"I thought you were done with those," she said, sauntering in.

Kai watched her move, the way she purposefully exaggerated the sway of her hips for his benefit, the way her heart-shaped ass fit so perfectly in those panties. "I am, mostly. But I went all day without them."

Nikki turned around, fingers resting on her chin, her index rubbing over her lips as she looked at him, appraising him.

"Besides, I thought you liked them," Kai said, his breath starting to come fast and short as he felt blood rush to his cock. Nikki could eye-fuck him like no woman he'd ever known.

She tilted her head and grinned, but said nothing, slinking toward him instead.

Nikki lived in a simple studio apartment, furnished with mere basics--a mattress and boxspring, a small table and chairs, a 13" TV, and little else. The first time Kai had visited her here, he'd remarked at the sparsity; Nikki, despite the fact that she worked full time at the diner, had always struck him as someone material. Instead, Nikki had pointed out that the only thing a girl really needs is food, fucking, and, well, occasionally Oprah. She had a sense of humor, yet something else Kai found so attractive about her.

His cock throbbed as she crossed her arms and pulled her shirt over her head, revealing her breasts, two large stripper-quality orbs still perky due to her youth, with two pinkish purple alveolas and long nipples that begged to be sucked. Kai's legs ached, and he glanced over at the bed, but somehow felt trapped by her spell, unable to move.

"I do," she finally said in answer to his earlier statement, smoothing her hands on the metal of his crutches and sinking down to her knees in front of him, beginning to undo the belt and button of his jeans.

"Nikki . . ." he started to protest, as she jerked his jeans open. "Nikki, I'm ti--" But his voice immediately cut off as she took him in her mouth, sucking softly, gently, urging him to harden against her tongue. She gave him a gentle push so that he was leaning against the wall as she eased his jeans and boxers down farther, better exposing him.

Nikki caressed the bottom of his cock, which had swollen to his full length in her mouth, while she eased a hand around his balls, smoothing them with her fingers. Kai let his head fall back against the wall and his eyes closed, suddenly forgetting the ache in his legs, forgetting everything. Nikki had a way of doing that--of making everything disappear, even if only for an instant--so that you lived in the moment. And this moment was incredible. Her mouth was so warm and tight yet soft; she knew exactly when to stroke with her tongue and when to suck, when to take his full length and swallow against the head, when to ease him in and out with little flicks against his slit.

She pulled off with a long lick, then grinned up at him, smoothing her tongue over her lips seductively. "Feeling better?"

Kai nodded, unable to form words. The cool air teased the delicate skin of his cock, bringing him back to reality for the moment as he remembered his arms still rested in the cuffs of his crutches, even if the wall was supporting him now. He watched as Nikki carefully removed one, than the other, smoothing her hand over his forearms so lightly it brought up gooseflesh, sending a tingle of electricity up his spine and making his cock jerk and leak in anticipation.

Kai vaguely heard the sound of his crutches being set aside, and now that his hands were free, he brought his right to his cock, his erection painful with need, but Nikki batted his hand away, shaking her head. He let out a faint whine of complaint, but let her push him away, her hot breath teasing him.

"I don't know how someone this big can be so . . . adorable," Nikki said in a husky voice, inching her fingers over the skin of his thighs, grazing his balls, up his belly, sliding under his shirt. Standing at full height, Kai was over 6'3", just slightly taller than his older brother Jon. And now that he'd had time to put on weight and muscle post-transplant, he was a healthy 210 pounds, his broad shoulders well muscled and strong, making him seem more imposing than his naturally slight figure.

His only response was a grunt as she took his balls in her mouth, rolling them over with her tongue, sucking playfully with a chuckle, the vibration of which made an electric pulse of sensation flow up from them to his dick and settle somewhere in the base of his spine. Nikki wasn't just good at this, she enjoyed it, smoothing her hands on his thighs, tickling her fingers back to the sensitive skin behind his sac, forcing him to press his shoulders against the wall to keep himself from sinking into the ground.

He watched as she pulled away with a grin, lapping at the golden hair that coated his groin, just a shade darker than the delightful fine mop that fell down past his ears on each side of his head. Nuzzling him with her nose and the soft heat of her breath, she eased her hands up his legs, under his shirt, fingering his firm stomach, searching for the scars she knew were there, one long pink, waxy mark in the center of his chest, and two smaller shifts in skin beneath his pecs. His cock pressed at her face anxiously with each shuttering breath, and she was forced to drop her hands so she could brace him as she took it deep again, swallowing once and making him giggle and moan.

Nikki was the first person that wasn't a medical professional--his brother included--who he'd let see his transplant scars. It wasn't so much that they embarrassed him; Kai had been forced to abandon that emotion years ago. Perhaps it was more the fact that as long as they remained hidden, with his new ability to breathe so easily, he could pretend, if only to himself, that he were normal. Or at least as close to normal as he could be.

_Fuck, that feels good_ , he thought, closing his eyes as Nikki worked her magic, cradling his balls in one palm while she used her other hand to guide him in and out of her mouth at an increasing pace, adjusting the suction and the caress of her tongue until he felt his stomach tensing and his nerves ignite in a combination of numbness and electricity, a feeling he knew well from oxygen depravation but which, in this context, was anything but frightening.

Moaning and humming to increase the sensation as she moved faster, taking him deeper, letting his head hit the roof of her mouth, Kai pressed his hands back against the wall to help keep himself upright as his hips jerked reflexively into her mouth, a surge of heat flowing out of him as he came hard into the back of her throat. She pressed her hands against his thighs to help keep him upright as she swallowed, sucking gently on the tip, lapping at the last of his come with her tongue before pulling back.

"God, how is it you taste so fucking good? You're sweeter than most guys," she said, pushing herself to her feet, easing his pants and underwear back up his hips before wrapping herself around him so they were both leaning against the wall.

Kai was too lost in his orgasm, eyes glazed, heart slowing, to let the reference to Nikki's experience bother him. He knew he was far from her first; it wasn't like she was his, either, and they had no illusions of being more than a fun fuck. After the disasters of Diane and Becca--especially Becca--he wasn't ready for anything serious, and Nikki had made it pretty clear she wasn't interested in an emotional relationship. Yet it still bothered him on a certain level to know that what they had wasn't special. Not special in the "let's get married sense"; yes, Kai wanted that someday, with the right girl--but more like the feeling that what they shared together was unique to the two of them. Maybe it was. Rather than being turned off by his scars or his crutches, Nikki seemed to embrace them, realizing they were as much a part of him as anything else.

"You're exhausted," she said finally, and he heard a note of warmth in her voice he hadn't noticed her use before. "Come on."

Expecting her to hand him his crutches, he was surprised when she helped him hobble the short distance to her bed, easing him onto the mattress with a unexpected tenderness. She was much stronger than she looked despite her thin frame and the fact that the top of her head barely cleared his shoulders when he stood at full height. With a sigh, he let himself fall back, willing himself to stay awake and not succeeding very well as his eyelids grew heavy and nearly impossible to keep open.

Wordlessly, Nikki eased off his shoes and jeans, working quickly but delicately. Once he was half naked, she turned to the ankle brace he wore on his left foot, tearing off the velcro so carefully that the ripping made only the faintest sound--or maybe sleepiness was dulling his senses. She gripped his calf and carefully eased his foot out of the orthotic, removed his sock, and set them aside with his clothes. Her fingers worked into the tight, sore gastrocnemis muscle, then cradled the arch of his foot, soothing it, knowing the muscles and tendons tended to seize there, especially after a long day on his feet. The tenderness of her touch felt more like a wife than a sexual partner, especially since he knew post-release it was meant to comfort him and not arouse.

"That feels good," he muttered, keeping his eyes shut, letting his breathing down shift. Even though more than a year had passed since his transplant, it still felt strange to not have to struggle for breath, for his chest to fill easily and release with even less effort.

After a moment, she shifted her attention to his right leg, massaging his calf and feet carefully before finally crawling onto the bed beside him, pulling a quilt over them and snuggling up against him, her arm draped over his chest, snaked up through the bottom of his shirt, fingering his scars and pecs, gentle, soft strokes of warm flesh against flesh.

"Why don't you stay," she whispered, her breath hot and tickling against his neck. "I can order a pizza."

He shifted his head to kiss the top of hers, where her hair met her forehead, reaching up to smooth some of it. He wasn't sure what exact color or texture Nikki's hair was naturally; she seemed to be in a constant state of flux as to its style and shade. Right now it was cropped short and straight, angled toward her face so that it lengthened as it approached her chin, dark brown with severe platinum highlights interrupting at intervals. He wondered if the brown was close to her natural hue based on the trimmed landing strip nestled above her slit.

He sighed into her hair, inhaling her scent, a mixture of fruity shampoo and body spray; Nikki always seemed to smell sweet, even after sex. "You know I can't."

Nikki sighed angrily but didn't move. "You're twenty-two years old. I think you're old enough for a sleepover."

He couldn't resist a chuckle despite her annoyed tone. "True. But Jon'd worry."

After aging out of the orphanage he'd called home most of his life, County House, Kai had moved in with his older brother, Jon, a physician-in-training at Jonesville Memorial. Separated since their parents had died years earlier, the two brothers were anxious to reconnect. Unfortunately, it wasn't long after that Kai's health began to nosedive as his lungs rapidly began to fail. Last year, just when they'd just about given up hope, Kai had matched with a cadaveric double-lung, receiving a transplant that had saved and changed his life.

Kai had spent nearly a year recovering, and although his health had improved to the point at which he could afford his own place, he'd decided to stay in the apartment he shared with his brother, partially hoping to make up for some of the time they'd lost over the decade they'd been apart.

Nikki laughed, a harsh exhalation of air. "You're a big boy. Besides, it's not like he's ever there, anyway."

It was true; Jon was a notorious workaholic, dedicated with a passionate intensity to his work as a clinician and researcher for FS, the respiratory disease that had forced Kai into needing a new set of lungs. Kai sighed against her again, debating about how nice it would be to take Nikki up on her offer, knowing she'd do more than warm his bed before the sun rose the next morning. But reality soon set in.

"I can't. I don't have my meds with me."

Post-transplant, Kai had been put on a litany of drugs, half to stave off rejection, the other half to ward off the side effects of the powerful medications that kept his immune system in check. Part of the first months of recovery had simply been adjusting the dosages of the various immunosuppressants, trying to find a balance between maintaining the stability of his new lungs and keeping the powerful side effects--among them severe nausea and vomiting--at bay. He was stable now, and grateful he hadn't lost his hair, but he couldn't afford to miss a single dose of any of the important drugs, which he took twice a day, everyday. Nikki knew this, but still, she clung to him, wrapping a leg around him tightly.

He laughed, shifting a hand until it cupped her breast, his thumb brushing gently over her nipple. She gasped with the sensation, which made him smile.

"I'm not leaving yet, though," he said, leaning in to tease her ear between his teeth. He felt her hand pressing against his chest, pushing him away, and frowned.

"Let's nap. I want you fresh and ready for me," she said with a glint her eye, licking her lips. "Besides, you're fucking beautiful when you sleep."

He laughed, looking at her, amazed by how sexy she was, by how sexy she thought he was, and let his body sink into the bed. He was tired, and it didn't take long for him to give into her suggestion and slip into sleep.

* * *

Nikki didn't sleep long. After only a few minutes, she woke, feeling the warmth of Kai's body near hers, the sound of his breathing--not quite a snore, but not quite normal, either. The only light filtered in from the window across the room; it was barely enough to illuminate his face as he slept on his side, facing her, one knee slightly tucked up. She watched him for several minutes; she hadn't lied when she'd told him he was beautiful when he slept. He really was, with his gold hair falling across his face, his lips slightly parted, his long fingers resting beside his stomach.

She wanted to reach over, stroke her hand over his body, a light touch over the skin of his arm. To use her fingers to ease the lock of hair behind his ear and kiss him there, in the soft spot along the nape of his neck. She even wanted to kiss his trache scar, because it was part of him, and not nearly as ugly and repulsive as he imagined it to be. It was a sign of where he had been and where he was now, and a part of her hated that he felt the need to cover it. A guy she'd dated had been a body modification artist and one day when she'd been flipping through his portfolio she'd seen a strange picture. It almost looked like a belly button piercing at first, but as she continued to flip, she realized it was a woman's neck. It was the strangest and yet most beautiful thing she'd ever seen, and when she'd asked her--well, boyfriend wasn't really the right term, was it?--about it, he'd explained it was a tracheostomy scar, healed from having a tube in her neck so she could breathe, and she was proud of it, so she'd had him pierce it for her.

Nikki sighed, resisting the urge to trace a finger down Kai's chin toward his neck, and decided to ease out of bed instead, pulling on a shirt and slipping quietly into the kitchen a few feet away. As noiselessly as she could, she filled her kettle and set it to boil, standing beside it so she could catch it right before the whistle sounded. Why did she like to do this? Watch him sleep? She wondered to herself as she fished out two mugs and her box of teabags from the counter above and to the left of the stove. Normally she was the type of girl who fucked a guy quick and left, or kicked him out. Not that she usually had to tell them to go, because she normally picked the type of guys who weren't interested in staying. But Kai was different. She'd known that the first time she'd seen him come into the diner, walking stiffly with his crutches, his strong arms bearing most of his weight as he eased toward the counter to wait for Becca.

It wasn't just his walk that made him different from the string of bikers and losers she normally fucked. They always had a kind of carefree arrogance, like they knew they were the best fucks in the world, even if they had a pinky dick they wouldn't know what to do with if it had the directions tattooed on it. She remembered watching Kai as she'd refilled coffees of the patrons on the far end of the counter, watching him talk to one of the older waitresses. He had a confidence to him, certainly; she could see that clearly by the way he flirted with Marge, causing her to blush since a twenty-something guy hadn't flirted with her in probably thirty years. But there was a kindness, too; not just because he was humoring a middle-aged waitress, but because the attention he paid to her was obviously not feigned, but genuine, like he honestly believed everyone deserved a little sugar in their coffee, as Marge would have put it. But Nikki saw a shyness, too; she didn't know how someone could be both confident and shy at the same time, but Kai was. Not that he was easily embarrassed; it was more reserved than anything else. And she still remembered how his skin had pinked when she'd sashayed her way toward him, laying a hand on his thick bicep as she leaned over to offer to refill his cup.

He'd looked up at her with those bright blue eyes, and she'd never imagined getting lost in someone's eyes like that. She'd heard the expression of course, but never believed it. Nikki was the type of person who didn't believe what she couldn't see or witness herself, but his eyes had captured her in that moment, and she knew immediately why Marge had been smiling like a school girl while they talked.

It was those eyes that had prompted Nikki to take her cigarette break a few minutes early when she saw him leave with Becca, to duck out to the alley behind the restaurant, hidden by the dumpster. To hear the end of an argument, voices raised and heated, Becca's angry and hurtful, Kai's strained and wounded. To see Becca storm off toward the parking lot and Kai lean forward, head bent against the wall, his strong shoulders, perfectly framed by his shirt, shuttering.

Every instinct in Nikki's body had told her to turn back, forget the pack of cigarettes clenched in her hand--she'd been meaning to quit anyway, right?--and get back to work. But instead, she'd stepped around the dumpster, one hand in front of her as if she were approaching a wounded stray dog, and she'd spoken to him, asking if he was OK.

He'd turned his head so quickly she'd expected to see anger in his face; instead, she saw those eyes. It could have been a trick of the light, the shadows of the alley, but their color had shifted from the bright, piercing blue of the ocean to something subtler, darker, grayer. And despite her question, neither of them had spoken for what had to be a minute or more, the two of them just looking at each other, as if neither of them understood the English language, and they needed some other form of communication.

Again, instinct kicked in, and Nikki had made a joke, something like, "She's a bitch," and his face had flinched. For an instant, she'd thought he'd grow angry, but instead, he'd smiled, laughing a bit, his eyes lighting, and God, she wanted nothing more in that instant than to press him up against that wall and lick every part of his body. Instead, she'd pulled out her ordering pad and a pen from her apron, had quickly scrawled her name and number, and pressed it into the pocket of his jeans, resisting the urge to linger. Instead, she'd whispered, "If you need a friend," unable to hide the seduction in her tone or eyes as she'd forced herself to turn back, jogging through the door and into the diner.

Nikki heard the gurgle of fast-boiling water and quickly shut off the heat, pouring the hot water onto the teabags in each mug, eying the clock to time how long it steeped, looking over at Kai in the darkness, feeling something in the pit of her stomach she didn't recognize, and it scared her. She frowned, concentrated on dipping her teabag, pulling the string up and down to speed the steeping, relieved he hadn't taken her up on her offer to stay. She knew she was crazy. They'd only known each other a few months, and Nikki never asked anyone to stay. That had always been her rule. Her apartment was hers, and hers alone.

He stirred, felt for her in the bed before opening his eyes. "Nikki?"

Even though she knew he probably couldn't make out her expressions in the dim light, she forced a smile. "I made tea. Don't worry; it's decaf."

"Thanks," he said, and she heard the smile in his voice, then saw him lean forward to stretch his legs.

After a few moments, he pulled on his boxers, then found his crutches where she'd left them leaned against the wall, and slipped them on, pulling himself to standing and crossing toward the kitchen, keeping most of his weight off his left leg. She pretended not to notice, and shifted the tea toward him, turning to grab the honey out of the cabinet for him.

He'd sunk down into the chair, cupping the mug in his hands, staring at the liquid as if trying to divine the future from it. She was tempted to make a joke, but he seemed so serious, she couldn't bring herself to disturb his pensive mood, so instead, she plucked the bag out of the tea, upended the honey, and squeezed enough of it into his drink to give her a vicarious toothache.

"Thanks," he said again, grabbing a spoon from the set she kept in a jar on the counter and stirring.

Nikki tasted her tea; she normally drank only coffee, but Kai didn't drink anything caffeinated, and she'd found herself buying and drinking this herbal stuff that tasted more like medicine than a beverage. Maybe that's why Kai put so much honey in it. But like watching him sleep, she found she'd come to enjoy these quiet moments with him, bent over their mugs, steam warming their faces.

"I work the nightshift tomorrow," Nikki said, simply for something to say.

Kai sighed, his shoulders rising toward his ears before slowly falling back down. "I'm sorry," he said softly without looking up from his mug. "I could go home, grab my meds, and come back . . ."

Nikki shook her head, laid a hand on his wrist, forcing another smile. "It's OK. I was being silly. You've got class tomorrow anyway, right? You should go home, relax, and give me a call when you want to see me again." Nikki forced herself to drink some of the tea, hoping its bitterness would erase the taste in her mouth.

Kai's eyes were a blue-grey, his eyebrows slanted above them, his lips pursed together in the beginnings of a frown. "I don't have to leave yet, I mean . . ." He paused. "I don't want to be selfish."

Nikki hadn't had an orgasm today, not that she'd given him the opportunity to give her one, but it made her smile; that was another thing about Kai that made him different from the usual losers she picked up. They watched too many pornos and didn't understand the first thing about proper foreplay or how to get a woman off the right way.

"It's OK. You can make it up to me later," she said with a twinkle in her eye, leaning in to kiss him, their tongues licking across each other. And God, she didn't want to let him go, but she knew she had to.

* * *

The words on the chart in front of him started to grow blurry, and Jon began to get that anxious, restless feeling that signaled he was heading for a hypo crash. Annoyed, he sighed and pulled open his top desk drawer, removing a small zippered black case. Setting it on the desk, Jon opened it carefully, removing his glucose monitor, threading a test strip into it before pricking his finger. After over twenty years of this, he barely even felt the lance, frowning as he squeezed the droplets onto the paper.

While he waited for the reading, he fished a glucose candy out of the same drawer, tapping it lightly on the desktop. His hands were shaking, which didn't help his annoyance, not to mention the fact that Jon's mood always soured when his blood sugar was low. Sometimes he hated being diabetic, even though he'd dealt with it since he was a kid, and it was old hat by now. Jon was like an express train, rolling quickly, focused, and he hated having to stop to do anything, and that included eating, checking his sugar, taking his insulin. It wasn't the disease so much that bothered him but the way it interrupted the flow of his life. Kai suggested it was probably God's way of ensuring Jon ate; Jon had the habit of being so focused on his work he'd skip meals, bad enough for someone with a normally functioning pancreas, potentially fatal for someone with type-I diabetes.

Jon sighed as the reading displayed at last, frowning at the low figure, popping the candy in his mouth and chewing it carefully to give him a temporary boost. He knew it wouldn't be enough; he had to eat something, and soon, but it would at least prevent him from going fully hypo and passing out. As he chewed, he glanced at his watch; his vision was already clearing a bit, and his unease was settling as the sugar entered his blood and fed his starving brain. 11:03 PM. Jon was grateful he didn't need an endocrinologist to get his insulin prescription, so he didn't have to hear a lecture about how bad his hemoglobin a1c numbers were.

Sighing, Jon packed his kit and replaced it in his desk, pushing himself up wearily. He knew he should take better care of himself; if Kai was as neglectful of his body as Jon was of his, Jon would never let his brother hear the end of it. But Taylors were stubborn, and Jon was the worst of them all in some ways. Annoyed that he'd have to leave the rest of the work on his desk for the morning, Jon grabbed his briefcase and keys and headed out of his office toward the employee parking garage.

* * *

Jon knew he probably shouldn't have driven himself home, but the candy had boosted him at least temporarily and his apartment was only a five minute trip from the hospital at this time of night. After he was separated from his siblings when their parents died, Jon had spent time in several foster homes before finally--and surprisingly due to his age--being adopted by an older man who'd lost his son only a few years earlier, and Jon had reminded him so much of his dead child he'd immediately taken Jon in as if he were his own.

Although Jon had been initially disturbed a bit, he could commiserate on some level, because he'd never gotten over being separated from his brother, whom he'd taken care of almost as if he were his parent instead of his sibling. And the adoption had been good for Jon; the man was kind and appreciated Jon's natural intelligence and inclination to knowledge. He'd taken Jon away from the small town in which he grew up, steeped with heavy memories of the family he no longer had, and encouraged him to pursue medicine.

But Jon had returned to Jonesville as soon as he could, hoping, praying to find his siblings again--especially Kai--and reconnect. He'd been too late for Sara, the youngest, who he learned had died of leukemia when she was only ten, ironic, Jon always thought, since she had been a healthy child before their parents were killed. Unlike Kai, who had struggled simply to breathe since the day he was born.

Jon sighed heavily at the memories of cradling his brother to sleep, doing his best to ease Kai's ragged breathing. They'd had a connection, the two of them, that even their parents hadn't understood. Jon had always thought of it as a kind of sixth sense, or perhaps it was simply intuition of the kind you read mothers having for their children, knowing instinctively when something was wrong with one of them. It was a feeling Jon had always carried around with him, even before Kai was born and was still in their mother's womb. Maybe it was simply Jon's natural proclivity toward worry and anxiety, but at least when they were younger, before their parents' deaths, Jon had always seemed to know when Kai would need him and what he needed. Much the way some people could predict and sense a change in the weather, Jon seemed to know his brother.

As Jon pushed his way into the dark apartment, he realized that now that Kai was potentially cured of his FS, and with his MLS not posing anything life-threatening, at least not for several years, he could relax. Kai would be OK. But still, that worrying part of him buzzed, as if it weren't ready to be set aside. Jon tried to convince himself it was simply a matter of habit, that vigilance that Kai would have a major attack or develop a deadly pneumonia at any time a remnant of so many years of tension. But then Jon would reassure himself again that he was simply channeling the risks of being a transplant patient into his usual anxiety, something to fill the void. Kai still had the chance of rejection, of fibrosis, of opportunistic infection, but while these were all real threats, Kai had already survived the most treacherous periods--the first hours post-surgery, the first month, the first three months, the first year, and so far, Kai had been healthier than he'd ever been in his life.

Jon knew he should find all of it comforting, but he couldn't. Instead of being the calm after the storm, it felt more like the eye of the hurricane, the storm behind him, but also swirling dangerously toward him again, threatening to bring even more chaos in its wake. Kai was already asleep; unlike Jon, he was pretty responsible with his health on most days, dutifully taking his medicine on time and resting when his body called for it, but he'd left a note, indicating there was leftover cheese pizza in the fridge if Jon was hungry. Jon laughed as he read the postscript, scribbled in Kai's slanting caps, underlined for emphasis, "CHECK YOUR BLOOD SUGAR."

Sighing, Jon pulled open a drawer and took out the kit he kept in the kitchen, quickly pricking his finger and waiting for the reading while he grabbed a slice of pizza out of the fridge. He knew the carbs in the pizza would spike his blood glucose, but as low as it was right now, the candy wearing off, he could afford it. Not in the mood to wait for it to heat, he took a bite of the cold slice just at the reading registered.

The apartment was quiet; the only sound the soft hum of the fridge behind him as he chewed on the cold pizza. As he expected, his sugar was low, but not dangerously so, and the pizza would ameliorate that quickly. The silence surrounded him, reminding Jon why, especially while Kai was too sick to live here, that he so often fell asleep at his desk or curled up on the small couch in the corner of his office. Not wanting to risk a full second slice, Jon ate the cheese off instead, then checked his sugar yet again, a yawn stretching his mouth as his exhaustion began to sink in. He had a presentation to make to some of the medicine residents tomorrow morning. It wasn't officially a Ground Round, especially since some of the internists frowned at Jon's eccentricities, but despite his youth, he was considered one of the best pulmonlogists on staff, and pulmonology and critical care were essential parts of the internal medicine curriculum.

Tossing the tester back in its bag, Jon grabbed an insulin syringe from the fridge, lifted his shirt, pinched the skin, and injected himself, remembering he'd have to switch sites for his morning dose. Carefully disposing the needle in the sharps container he kept for the purpose, Jon trudged toward the back hall where their bedrooms were. 

As he passed, Jon noticed Kai's door was slightly ajar. He could hear the soft, subtle snore of Kai's breath as he slept; even post-transplant, Kai's breath was noisier than most, although it was low and even and not labored the way it once was. Jon resisted the urge to pop his head in and confirm that Kai was OK. Again, after so many years, it was a struggle for Jon to remember that Kai _was_ all right, that perhaps the worst was behind him. Reflexively, Jon pulled his fingers through his hair as he turned toward his own bedroom.

Jon's room was small and neat, _spartan_ , Kai had teased him when Jon first brought his brother to the apartment. Kai knew Jon's adoptive father had made some money in various business interests and Jon had been fortunate enough to grow up in a comfortable environment--a far cry from the home where Kai had lived as a child. Still, Jon spent very little time here, and as it was, was a man of few needs and desires.

Jon finally slipped out of his white coat, its pockets heavy with small reference books, hanging it on the coat hanger that stood near his single dresser. He toed off his shoes, nudging them toward the base of the rack, and stared at his face in the mirror for a moment. During the decade of their separation, Jon had hated to look at his reflection, because he saw Kai in it every time he looked, and for years Jon had been unable to determine if Kai was even still alive, so that it was almost as if his brother haunted him in every mirror.

Like Kai, Jon was tall and lean, although his frame was narrower and less muscular, and despite years of insulin treatment for his diabetes, extremely thin. But their faces were nearly identical; Jon's nose perhaps angled a bit sharper, his lips finer, his jaw just a hint more square. Jon's eyes were nearly twins to his brother's as well, but older, faded, less the brilliant Caribbean-sea blue of Kai's and more of a misty grey, with lines of age and worry marking their corners. Like his eyes, Jon's hair was also a softer mirror of Kai's; less golden and more wheaten, like a brilliant fabric left too long in the sunlight, stripping it of its once lustrous color. And though Jon was only eight years older than Kai, he seemed much older, especially when he was tired like this, dark circles under each grey eye, the shade of stubble on his cheeks.

In fact, they looked so much alike, their differences so subtle, that if it weren't for age, they could easily pass as identical twins. As Jon shrugged out of his tie, shirt, and pants, he wondered what the two of them may have been like if things had been different; would Jon have been able to table his anxiety over his brother enough to keep him youthful so that their age difference narrowed, at least in Jon's face? Jon shook his head as he realized Kai's lungs had begun to fail him at just 18, and even their parents, even being together as a family for those twelve extra years, wouldn't have changed that.

Jon collapsed in his bed, pulling the sheets over his naked body as he shut out the light. He disliked teaching residents, mostly because most internists planned on becoming GPs who didn't care about critical care and whose only pulmonary concerns were asthma, occasionally pneumonia or COPD. Or, worse, they had their eyes on a fellowship, something glorified like interventional cardiology and yawned behind their hands when Jon stressed the importance of understanding the pulmonary curves and how that related to proper ventilatory management. As much as he tried to stress the importance of understanding, preventing, and treating ARDS--the subject of tomorrow's lecture--he knew most of them only wanted to know the minimum required for their boards, content in the fact that someone like him would be managing their patients' respiratory care.

Jon rolled over, a sigh mixed with a groan escaping his lips. Maybe he should take Kai up on his suggestion of a vacation. A few days of relaxation might do him good. Jon laughed as he adjusted his pillow. Relaxation. Kai was right. That was a word Jon had no understanding of.


	2. August 25, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Meet Renee's roomate, Diane; Kai and Nikki go to a party and things get... "fucked up.”

It was Friday night, the first Friday since classes started, and Renee was curled up on the couch with her friend and roommate, Diane. Renee and Diane had met their freshman year, when they'd ended up as roommates after an unfortunate incident that left them both in need of someone to bunk with. They'd become fast friends, and even though Diane had decided to shift her focus to graphic design instead of architecture, after their first year, they'd found a cozy two-bedroom not far from campus to share rather than putting up with the meager Jonesville U dorms again.

Diane stuffed a handful of popcorn in her mouth, then set the big plastic bowl between them. Renee was channel surfing, trying to find something for them to watch, but neither of them were really paying attention to the screen.

"We're pathetic. First Friday night of the year and we're in our PJs watching cable when we could be out finding Mr. Right."

Diane was focused on Renee as she spoke, and so she immediately caught the blush that colored Renee's cheeks.

"Ooooh. OK, so now I understand your reluctance to tell me about your first week of classes. Who is he?"

Renee left the TV on a gameshow rerun and shifted on the couch so she could face Diane better. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Uh huh," Diane said skeptically, grabbing the remote and shutting off the TV with a quick gesture, not bothering to tear her gaze from her friend. "Spill."

Renee sighed and let herself sink into her seat a bit. "His name is Kai. And he's gorgeous."

Diane laughed at the small sigh that escaped Renee's lips. "Wow, one week and you're in love already?"

Renee frowned, but the expression didn't last as she started talking about Kai. "He's a freshman, but I think he's older. He looks older, anyway. Not like most of the other guys in my freshman core classes. Makes me grateful I decided to focus on my major last year instead of my common curriculum classes. He's in every class with me that isn't architecture-based."

"Kai?" Diane said, rolling his name out on her tongue. "That's an unusual name."

"Yeah. I looked it up. It's Japanese. Or Hawaiian. Or Chinese. But he's all Midwestern. Really tall--"

Diane tossed a piece of popcorn at Renee playfully. "Everyone's really tall compared to you."

Renee grabbed the popcorn and popped it in her mouth, then stuck her tongue out. Renee was barely five feet tall, and so she was dwarfed by everyone at Jonesville U, where the average woman was 5'8" and the average guy at least 6'1". Diane wasn't from Jonesville originally; she came from a spot-on-the-map town in South Dakota and had decided to go "south" for school. Part Sioux, she dwarfed Renee by at least six inches when they both stood barefoot, and kept her dark hair braided, although she was immensely jealous of Renee's curls.

"Anyway," Renee said with a mock sneer, "he's totally not like the guys I'm used to from back home. "Tall--"

"You said that already," Diane interrupted with a smirk, stuffing popcorn in her mouth.

Renee stuck her tongue out again. "With the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen. They're this deep, rich blue, almost a turquoise, but more blue than green. I could stare into them forever. And he's got this delicious golden hair, too. I've known some blonds, but nothing like this."

Diane laughed. "You're totally smitten."

Renee blushed but couldn't deny it. "He's also smart and funny and sweet," Renee added. "He's got these incredibly long fingers. Sometimes I'd find myself forgetting to take notes because I'd be too busy watching him."

"All right," Diane said, one eyebrow arched, popping a piece of popcorn onto her tongue, "If he's Mr. Perfect, then why are you on the couch with me instead of somewhere doing the nasty with him?" Diane had to shield herself as Renee threw a handful of popcorn toward her. "Hey! You're cleaning this up!"

"Because he is Mr. Perfect," Renee sighed, gathering up some of the spilled corn and collecting it in her palm. "Why would he be interested in a shrimp with small breasts from Louisiana when he could have someone as blond and tall as he is?" Renee shifted the popcorn in her hands, poking it at it with her opposite finger, almost as if she were counting coins. "He's muscular, too. Not disgusting like a body builder, just nice, you know? You should see his biceps." Renee sighed. "I'm sure he has some cheerleader girlfriend at home."

"But you don't know that," Diane said, her face serious.

Renee shook her head. "I may have half my classes with him, but that doesn't mean we've gotten past more than basic conversation. 'Do you have a girlfriend?' isn't exactly idle 'getting to know you' chit chat."

"All right," Diane said, straightening up and grinning. "Ask him to meet you at The Chipped Mug. Everyone loves coffee, and that'll give you a chance to get to know him better. Worst case, you find out he's taken, and friends drink coffee together all the time. No harm, no foul. You can stay friends with him and secretly scribble Mrs. . . . What's his last name?"

"Fox. Kai Fox."

"OK, you can secretly decorate your notebook with 'Mrs. Kai Fox,' while you drool over his long fingers and golden hair and muscles . . ."

"You're mocking me."

Diane shrugged and stuffed some more popcorn in her mouth, so that when she spoke, her words came out mumbled. "Maybe a little."

Renee laughed and leaned against the cushion of the couch. "I guess you're right. It'd be nice to spend some extra time with him, and I don't really have anything to lose. Who knows, maybe he has a thing for short French girls with dark, curly hair."

* * *

Kai felt guilty about not spending the night when Nikki'd asked, even if he had a good excuse. She'd pretended she hadn't been serious, and she hadn't asked again, but it had still gnawed at him the rest of the week, so when she suggested they hit a party together Friday evening, Kai went against his better judgment and agreed. He'd never had much opportunity to experience parties when he was younger, and he didn't have an incredible fondness for crowds or loud music, but without his crutches, Kai thought it might not be so bad. And his new life was supposed to be about new experiences, right?

Well, he could cross "college kegger" off his bucket list. The party was a fairly typical opening-week beer fest, at least that's what Nikki claimed as they squeezed in the front door together, before the roar of music overwhelmed their voices. Apparently Nikki frequented these things from time to time, prowling the drunk freshmen like a jungle cat stalking its prey.

Kai wasn't sure if it was habit or residual resentment on her part or something else--women were so hard to understand--but she pointed him in the general direction of the keg, patted him on the back with a grin, and shouted for him to "have fun" before disappearing off into the throng. Unsure what to do and feeling incredibly out of place, Kai shuffled his way through the sea of bodies until he found a group gathered around the silver-barreled fountain he knew had to be the keg, even if he'd never seen one himself, not in real life, anyway. He felt suddenly silly; 22 and at his first real college party, but quickly pushed the thought aside. Kai had learned early the importance of persona, and so he pulled on his mask of casual indifference, deciding to play the role of lecherous upper classman, here for the free alcohol and hoping to seduce a freshman or two. No one would know the difference, as long as Kai kept his face a mixture of ennui and superiority, his shoulders squared to emphasize his upper body bulk and height.

Still in character, Kai pushed past the kids gathered around the kitchen, grabbed a red cup from the stack, and shoved it into the nearest guy's hand, making sure the freshman didn't match Kai's height or weight. "Fill it," he barked. The kid didn't hesitate, but Kai ignored him, searching the crowd for Nikki. She wasn't anywhere in sight, although a few cute blondes did smile at him when his gaze crossed their paths. Kai smiled back, as fit his role, and he wasn't naive enough not to know if he waited a few more beers they'd happily blow him--or better--in one of the back bedrooms.

Maybe later, if only to flatter himself, he thought dourly, forcing his way out of the kitchen and back toward the main room. The music was loudest here, the furniture pushed aside to make room for a makeshift dance floor, bodies bumping and grinding and sloshing beer on each other roughly to the beat of the music. Kai hung back, scanning the crowd, sipping his beer and trying not to frown. How did people drink this stuff? It tasted like soapy water. Kai didn't find Nikki, but a chubby brunette dressed in a failed attempt at punk found him. She was short, even in her chunky knee-high boots, and although the music was far too loud for conversation, Kai could see in her glazed eyes she was drunk, maybe on more than alcohol. She definitely didn't look 21; in fact, she didn't look a day over 16. Either she was a very young freshman, or high-school kids had crashed the party. Even if she was of age, there was no way Kai was taking advantage of a girl so drunk she'd throw herself on him like this. And she did, quite literally, pressing her cheek against the base of his sternum, muttering something he couldn't hear but instead feel as vibrations coursing through his body.

Not sure what to do, Kai reached to hold her in a one-armed embrace, shifting his weight to his right leg. This party was a mistake. Uncertain, Kai held her for a few moments, but then he nearly fell over when he jumped in shock as he felt her massaging his crotch through his pants. His body reacted instinctively to her touch, but his brain forced him to push her away. He'd spilled nearly all of the sudsy beer when he reacted, so he found a surface to leave his cup and abandoned the girl in his quest to find Nikki.

The next room wasn't any quieter or less crowded, although the furniture here was nearly non-existent. It linked with another room through a large open doorframe, merging the spaces into one. Most likely a formal dining and living room, now it was lined with couples frantically humping each other along walls, groping on the floor, a few dancing in the center, beer sloshing as they moved drunkenly together.

Kai's hips ached as he moved through the room, and he longed for a place to sit, but there was none. Even most of the wall space was occupied by bodies, and the smell of beer and vomit was thick in the air. Kai supposed the party was much more enjoyable inebriated, but he still couldn't see the attraction. Weaving his way into the adjoining room wasn't easy, with bodies everywhere. It was still relatively early, but some were already passed out.

The thrum of music was a bit dimmer here, to Kai's relief, and he was able to find a spot of wall to lean against. It wasn't as good as sitting, but it would do for now. It didn't take long for his eyes to find Nikki. She stood in the far corner, her head thrown back in laughter and pleasure as several younger men fawned over her. It was impossible for Kai to say from here how drunk she was, but she was clearly enjoying herself. _Nikki in her element_ , Kai thought, frowning, and then grew annoyed with himself. Nikki had every right to have fun; that's why they were here, after all. They weren't exclusive, he reminded himself--by mutal agreement; she may have taught him a lot about sex, and he might find himself craving her like a junkie, but she wasn't _his_. As if anyone could "own" Nikki, even if they wanted to. Nikki was a free spirit that couldn't be caged. Part of her appeal, perhaps.

When Kai had first decided to call Nikki, to see her, neither of them had planned for it to be more than sex, a one-time thing. Nikki apparently did that well, and Kai was desperate to forget Becca. Forget how she'd abandoned him when he'd needed her most. Forget how badly she'd hurt him. Forget that rejection felt like an ugly pink scar seared into his neck.

* * *

Nikki, sexy, sexy, Nikki, who didn't seem fazed by crutches or scars, who was content to fuck him, no questions asked, seemed like the perfect medicine. But she was addictive, and one night turned to a second, and a third, and soon he'd found himself dropping by her apartment nearly every afternoon for the last few months. _Keep things superficial, physical_ , they'd both decided; both parties weren't interested in anything binding or serious. It was about fun, escape, _living._ Experiencing the life he had never had the opportunity to know while simultaneously running from the new, uncertain future and the past that refused to stay forgotten, behind him.

Perhaps Nikki assumed the nights Kai didn't come to her he went to someone else. Perhaps that's very much what she did when they weren't together. 

She was wearing a tight dress that buttoned in the front, and Kai could see as the men moved around her that it was half opened, one guy with his mouth on her nipple, the second with a hand up the dress, and the third, nibbling her earlobe. Nikki lowered her head and seemed to meet Kai's eyes, grinning like a Cheshire cat and pulling the nibbler in for a passionate kiss.

Kai sighed and rubbed his left thigh through his jeans. He really needed to sit down. He searched the room; at this point, even the floor would do, and his eyes caught sight of dark curly hair. His heart leapt, even though logic dictated the likelihood of it belonging to Renee was low. This was a freshman party, for one thing. He found the mane of tousled curls again and realized it wasn't Renee; this girl was much taller, with a more delicate frame, more of a model's body than Renee's compact, petite form.

Still, Kai kept his gaze fixed on this mysterious woman, if only to avoid looking at Nikki, because seeing her like that made his stomach churn despite himself. When the curly-haired woman turned at last, she saw Kai staring and grinned. She wasn't nearly as beautiful as Renee, but she wasn't bad to look at, either, with a long face and nose and large, slanting, cat-like eyes and full lips. Her skin was as pale as porcelain, contrasting sharply with her dark-brown irises. She looked even more the model as she strode toward him, one leg in front of the other, as if she were walking down a catwalk, elegant despite the mess of bodies around her. She wore a v-necked top and no bra, not that she needed one for her tiny breasts, the slit of the shirt dipping nearly to her navel.

Without a word, she approached him, planted a hand on each of his hips, and pulled him toward her into a hungry kiss. She was tall, at least six foot, so that he barely had to dip his head to meet hers. Her tongue tasted faintly of alcohol--but not beer, something stronger--and cigarettes, with an underlying sweetness that surprised him. As he felt his body reacting, a delightful heat straining against his jeans, he realized _this_ is why Nikki came to these parties.

Kai's hands smoothed over the nameless girl's body as they continued to kiss, and he pressed his erection against her, his mind singly focused. _Forgetting. Living._ She leaned into him, pushing back against him, rubbing gently, her mouth trailing from his to find his pulse point, and Kai forgot his pain, forgot everything in her touch, not thinking as she unbuttoned his collar, spreading the fabric to expose his neck. 

It took an instant for Kai to notice she'd pulled away from him, and he forced his eyes to look down, where he saw she was staring. He realized, too late, what her gaze was focused on, his fingers rushing up to cover his trache scar. Her face had paled beyond its even natural whiteness, her lips hung open just slightly.

Without bothering to speak, she shook her head, colored, and disappeared into the crowd. Kai slammed his fists into the wall beside him but otherwise didn't move, not even to rebutton his shirt, his eyes tightly closed.

Kai wasn't sure how long he stayed like that, ignoring the subtle twitch of the small muscles in his hip joint, until he felt the gentle touch of fingers on the nearly invisible hair of his arm.

"Having fun?" A familiar voice asked, forcing Kai to open his eyes.

Nikki. She'd rebuttoned her dress mostly, and her hair was slightly mussed, but otherwise you would never tell she'd been entertained in the corner by several guys only minutes earlier.

Kai tried to keep his face neutral as he replied, "Not really."

Nikki slipped her arms around his neck, looking up at him, amused. She was a little drunk, but not very. Buzzed more than anything. She smiled at him. "She's still got you, doesn't she?"

Kai didn't need to ask what Nikki meant; she wasn't referring to the cat-eyed girl he'd just been snogging; no, she meant Becca, and as much as he hated to admit it, Nikki was right. Was it really Renee he'd been hoping to see in that girl, or, as illogical as it was, had his heart leapt at the thought of touching Becca again?

Kai frowned, feeling sick to his stomach as if he'd drunk even though he hadn't. "I'm ready to go. If you want to stay, that's fine . . ." Kai said, looking back toward the corner where the three guys were toasting their manly prowess or something, knocking red cups together and laughing.

Nikki followed his gaze and laughed. "Nah, I'm done here." She grinned wide. "Come on, sexy," she said, pushing herself up to kiss his trache scar. "Let's go."

* * *

Kai was limping heavily by the time they snuck out of the party, still going full blast, the house shaking behind them from the thrum of music and gyrating of bodies. She almost apologized as they climbed into his car–for the party, for everything–but instead bit her lip and watched his profile in the moonlight. Why had she insisted on bringing him? Leaning back in the seat, she thought about it. She’d convinced herself it was fifty-fifty he’d walk out of there with someone else, some hot freshman.

Glancing over at him, she saw his eyes fixed on the road–the house was out in the country, the road back to her apartment over dark unpaved dirt through endless cornfields, the scent of manure faint in the air even with the windows closed. She remembered how he’d looked at her while she was pressed into the corner with those three boys fawning over her, touching and kissing and licking and sucking. It wasn’t quite jealousy or even betrayal. Not even possessiveness. No, his eyes had been vacant, yet not lacking expression. And then that girl. Curly hair. It didn’t take a genius to know why Kai’s entire demeanor had changed when she’d rubbed up against him.

Nikki gritted her teeth. She hadn’t even really tried to elicit the attention of those three guys until she’d noticed Kai’s golden hair rising above the crowd. Ugg. This was so not like her. She hadn’t even bothered to get very drunk, and although she easily could have found her own way home, the thought of Kai leaving without her . . .

She leaned over, letting her hand stroke his thigh, easing her fingers toward his crotch. In the dim light, she could see his right hand tighten on the steering wheel. 

"Nikki," he said, his voice stern. "Not while I’m driving."

The car bounced as it shifted off dirt onto pavement. They were still alone; no other cars, no other lights other then their headlights piercing the darkness in front of them. She ignored his words and pressed further, fingertips smoothing over the seam of his jeans, enjoying the subtle scraping sound of skin against denim.

"Nikki . . ." he said again, but as always, when she pressed him, the firmness of his voice faltered, and he cocked his right hip slightly. An invitation?

She had space. And now that they were off the worst of the back-country roads, she didn’t have to worry about bumping her head. But she’d never attempted this in a car fitted with hand controls. Would the bars leading from the grip to the pedals hit her? Probably not worth the risk. Plus, they’d be home soon, and she could have him all night. Lay him out on her bed and lick him from head to toe, little flicks of her tongue.

She shifted her left hand to his crotch, squeezing and rubbing gently, enjoying the heat beneath her palm, while her right cupped over his on the steering wheel. His breathing became more ragged, and she was seriously tempted to tell him to pull over and let her take him right there, in his car, in the middle of no where.

Nikki had always had an active sex drive, and she’d never been ashamed of it. But no guy she’d ever been with had turned her up and on the way Kai did. And she didn’t even know why. Maybe it was his elusiveness? His boy-next-door looks? No, it was more than that. Despite how little they'd shared about their lives beyond the basic physicality of their relationship over the past few months, she sensed a kindred spirit. They were both searching for something, and although she knew it couldn't be a permanent solution, for now, they'd found it in each other.

She forced herself to back off as the lone country road widened to four lanes, with street lights highlighting the night as they drew closer to town. Sitting on her calves, she tickled his ear with her finger.

"You better come in and let me fuck you," she said, licking her lips. "Don’t you dare drop me off and leave me hanging."

"Leave _you_ hanging?" He said, eyebrow cocked, turning toward her briefly before returning his concentration to the road. "Fuck, Nikki, you’re _killing_ me."

Nikki smirked, settled back in her seat. Then the words were out of her mouth before she could stop them. "That girl. The curly hair. Back at the party. Would you have . . . if she hadn’t . . . would you have fucked her?"

Kai frowned, his hand clenched on the steering wheel, a tight sigh releasing with a loud hiss of air through teeth. He dropped his head slightly, shook it, but it wasn't clear if that meant "no" in response to her question, or if it were more than that.

"I wasn’t going to fuck those guys," she said, scratching at the fabric of her dress, tight around her thighs from the position in which she sat. "Well . . ." She hesitated. She’d have let them finger fuck her, maybe. They were close to doing it already. But nothing more than that.

Before she could finish, he responded, "You don’t need my permission to fuck someone else, and I don’t need yours." His tone was flat. Streetlight filtered in through the windshield, casting a white pallor on his forearm, where she could see the muscles were tense. 

_Fuck. Why do I always fuck things up?_ Nikki normally went for the guys who wouldn’t stay because the ones who would never did. So she never had to worry about fucking things up. It was just easier. _But why is Kai simultaneously so easy and yet so. . . ._

"I’m sorry," she said. "I’m a little drunk," she tried as an excuse, even though she knew he wouldn’t buy it. Kai never got drunk, but he'd seen her tipsy more than once.

"Whatever," he said. "We’ll fuck, fine. I’ll go home. You’ll go to work tomorrow. I’ll see you Monday. Whatever."

He was angry. _Maybe this has more to do with that curly-haired girl than with anything I've said or done wrong_ , Nikki thought hopefully.

"That girl–"

"Don’t." Kai’s chest rose and fell sharply a few times; his lips pressed tightly together. "Just don’t."

* * *

Neither of them said a word the rest of the trip, and Nikki had been convinced he was going to drop her off and drive into the night. Instead, she found herself thrown up against her apartment door, Kai leaning into her, kissing her hungrily, bracing himself with one hand, the other roaming her body feverishly.

He pressed against her, and she sunk into his touch, the taste of his mouth, her fingers fumbling at the buttons of his shirt. Kai broke the kiss to nip at the base of her neck, the delicate skin of her shoulder, tentative bites in a line from her ear to her arm. She squirmed, slipping his shirt off one arm at a time, tossing it away and lolling her head to one side to expose herself to him. He sucked at the skin, licking the marks with his tongue, his breath hot and warm against her.

His hand gripped her hip hard enough to leave bruises; she knew if she asked him to back off he would, but she didn’t. She’d never seen him like his: so hungry, possessive; it was incredibly sexy. She moaned as he continued to swipe his tongue over her skin, a powerful yet delicate tingle coursing through her body. Her fingers smoothed over his bare chest, nearly hairless, falling into his sternal scar.

Together, they unbuttoned her dress, and she let it fall away from her, leaving her naked. He pulled back to admire her, still bracing himself with one arm, the fingers of his opposite hand trailing lightly over her skin, down through the soft space between her breasts, over her belly, finding the beginning of the tattoo that curled around her navel.

A phoenix, brilliant red-and-orange flames and feathers contrasting sharply against her pale skin. They were breathing in unison, eyes filled with lust as his touch trailed along the tattoo toward the small, neat landing strip of hair nestled above her slit. His index finger traced it, dipping down.

"You let those fuckers finger fuck you?" His voice was nearly a growl.

Her only answer was a laugh, deep and throaty.

He pressed into her, grip shifting to an arm, head bent, eyebrows furrowed. "Bed. Now."

She stared into his eyes, grown dark and steely, like the sky before a storm, and licked her lips. Once his grip released, she dashed off toward the bed, stopping only to grab a condom before hopping onto the mattress with a bounce, spreading hers legs for him, propping herself up with two hands, knowing she had to watch him, uncertain of exactly what he would do next, but excited rather than nervous.

Kai approached her, determined, but visibly favoring his right leg. Nikki observed him, touching herself absently, her head tilted slightly back. She resisted the urge to moan for him; most guys loved noise, but she could see in the fierceness of Kai’s gaze that tonight would be pure and raw without excess. When he stopped at the foot of the bed, she inched forward, wiping a cunt-moistened finger on his belly before popping open his jeans and sliding them and his boxers down, down, toward his ankles.

His legs quaked, and she glanced up, noticing his diminishing erection, a slight grimace. But before she could say or do anything, he pushed her back onto the bed and crawled on top of her, pants around his ankles. He could easily crush her, but he kept most of his weight on his hands as he leaned forward toward her ear.

"Bite me," he breathed, the arch of his neck hovering over her mouth. 

His body bobbed slightly with each inhalation, his cock rubbing at her leg. She wrapped an arm around the back of his neck, pulling him closer, tasting him, sucking the skin before biting, just hard enough to leave a mark. She could see the red rim from her teeth in the dim light. He groaned and managed an awkward thrust, grazing the skin of her thigh.

" _Harder_."

She steadied his body, shifted her mouth down, and bit again, this time harsher; he grunted, but she didn’t relent, clamping down until she tasted iron, pulling back and licking at the blood. Not being exclusive, she knew she shouldn’t, but she couldn’t resist. They’d played a little rough before--a nip or two here, a twist of a nipple there--but never anything hardcore. Nikki’d done it before, not like that was really her scene, but right now she’d do just about anything he wanted.

He shifted, tried to press toward her; he was harder now, she could feel him.

"Fuck," he said in frustration.

She felt blindly for the little foil packet, tearing it open and tossing it aside, then lightly stroked him before rolling it on. He rarely topped her, not like this, but she was ready for him.

Nikki spread her legs, grabbed him, pulling him in and biting down forcefully on his opposite shoulder, sinking her teeth in until he arched his back and sank inside her. She held the bite, digging in her teeth before finally letting go. 

He let out a low moan, shifting his hips, pulling himself deeper with his arms. She wrapped her legs around him, pressing him against her, aiding his movements. _Fuck, this feels fantastic_ , she thought, eyeing the thin stream of blood filming over his skin near the marks on each shoulder.

"Kai–" she said, smoothing a palm over his chest, her other pressed against his back–anything to draw him closer.

"Don’t. Just don’t," he said through clenched teeth, echoing his earlier comments from the car, dipping his head.

She could smell the sweat, nearly taste it, expecting it to drip off the tip of his nose onto her face. Nikki rocked her hips up against his, squeezing his cock, moving with him, pulling him toward and away from her, reveling in the sweet hum of friction between them. Seeing him like this made the party worth it, she thought, two fingers tracing over his pecs and finding a nipple, squeezing it hard between them, making him emit a loud, low grunt. His stomach spasmed, his elbows faltered as he rode out his orgasm.

She held him close, waiting; his forehead sank to her shoulder. Then she felt him shudder.

"Kai?" she said, confused, dropping her legs and smoothing a hand on his spine.

For a moment, he held himself, his body trembling slightly, silent except for the rough rush of his breathing. Finally, he pushed, rolling himself off her onto his back, covering his eyes with a forearm, pressing his fingers into one of the bites with the other.

Nikki shifted to her side, pulling the condom off his limp cock, tying it off and tossing it away, then shimming up to him, laying a gentle hand on his stomach. 

"Hey," she said, her voice barely a whisper.

He didn’t respond, nails digging into flesh until bright blood bubbled up fresh.

"Shit, Kai. What the fuck?"

He rubbed his forearm into his eyes before dropping both his hands and pushing himself into a sitting position. She tried to read his face in the dim light, but it was impossible. After a moment, he pushed the fingers of one hand toward his chest, then formed both hands into "V’s," bouncing one hand off the top of the other, fingers pointed in opposite directions. 

Nikki frowned, brow furrowed, and watched as his hands began to move until she reached out and stopped him, gripping his wrists. "I don’t know what you’re saying. Fucking _talk_ to me. What the fuck is going on? Is this about the curly-haired girl? Because I think I have a wig I can throw on if that’s what you fucking need."

He sighed, rubbed his thigh with the heel of one hand. "I’m fucked up, Nikki."

She laughed, propped her head on her elbow, looking at him. "Yeah, well, join the club."

That earned a smirk, and he allowed himself to fall back down. He let out a long sigh.

"You want to talk about it?" She lightly grazed her fingers on the soft, invisible hairs around his belly button.

An arm crossed over his chest, lightly testing the less bloody bite wound. "I need to disinfect these. Fuck. I need to get home."

Nikki licked her lips, leaned forward and kissed him, a few light pecks on the uninjured skin of his shoulder. "I’m sorry about the party."

He took a few slow breaths, and when she looked up, she noticed his eyes were closed. In the dim light, she could see just enough to make out the shift of his jaw bone to indicate teeth grinding and suspected the party was only part of his problems.

She watched him for a moment, smoothing a hand over his belly and onto his thigh. "I’ll go get some stuff to clean the bites. You’re welcome to stay, and you’re welcome to go." She tried to keep her voice neutral as she disappeared into the bathroom.

Nikki stared at her reflection in the mirror, leaning on the sink for a minute. Sometimes she wondered why she bothered with him. He could be a headcase; difficult to predict and interpret, and if you attempted to plough him to try to understand what went on beneath those blond locks, more often than not he’d shut you out. Not that Nikki could really blame him. After all, this was supposed to be just sex, right? She was the one trying to make things more complicated, asking him to spend the night, taking him to parties just so she could . . . what _had_ she intended? Try to bait him? Make him jealous? She blew frustrated air through her lips, pushing some hair out of her eyes.

Relationships weren’t supposed to get to the point at which you needed to think, analyze, plot. She should cut him off. It’d be better for both of them. But she couldn’t. Fuck. She couldn’t.

She grabbed the rubbing alcohol, some cotton swabs, and bandaids, and padded back out to the bedroom, half expecting him to be gone. Instead, he’d removed his shoes, brace, and the rest of his clothes, and lay, half covered, arms folded and resting on his forehead, staring up into the darkness.

Nikki climbed onto the bed, sitting on her heels, dabbing at the bite closest to her, cleaning it and disinfecting it with the alcohol. She knew it had to sting, but he hardly reacted to her touch.

"Listen," Nikki said with a sigh, applying a large bandage to cover the wound. "I get it. I don’t talk about my past, you don’t talk about your past." She shrugged, started to crawl over him to access his other shoulder, but he grabbed her, held her straddling his body.

He pulled her down carefully, kissing her--intensely, but not nearly as ferally as earlier. 

"Tell you what," he said between soft kisses, pulling at her lower lip. "You learn ASL and I’ll tell you anything you want."

Nikki freed her hands, then mimicked his sign from earlier, knocking her fists together, index fingers of the "V's" touching.

He laughed.

She frowned. "Did I do it wrong?"

"Were you trying to tell me to fuck off?"

Her eyebrows raised, looking at him hopefully.

He laughed, grabbed her hands, rearranged them into the "V" fists. " _This_ ," he said, shifting her hands so that her index fingers touched, "is 'perfect.' _This_ ," he said, pulling her hands apart, twisting them, then bumping her fists together, "is 'fuck.'"

She laughed, genuinely amused, tossing her head back, her hair falling about her face. "So 'perfect' is only an inch away from 'fucked up.' Nice."

"God, you’re fucking beautiful when you laugh, you know? Really laugh. You should do it more often."

Nikki’s face drew in on itself, and she shifted off him, grabbing the supplies. "I should finish getting you patched up.

He snagged her wrist. "I can do it."

"It’ll be easier for me, and I can make sure you don’t miss a spot." She frowned, going to work, then smirked. "I guess it’d be kind of funny if you died because I bit you, huh? Death by Nikki!"

She’d expected him to laugh at that; he usually would’ve. But his face was serious, and she wondered if she’d overstepped. She hurried to affix the second bandage, preparing to apologize.

"Nikki, what the fuck are we doing?" he finally asked in a sigh. She caught the faint gleam of his eyes in what little light they had.

She laughed, cleaning up the supplies and dumping them on the nightstand. "Getting ready for bed. Unless you’re up for round two?"

His eyebrows dipped, and he waved his hand between them, fingers folded, pinky and thumb extended. "I mean _us_."

Nikki sighed, slipped under the blanket, stretched out along his side. "I thought I knew. I don’t anymore."

Kai sighed, his breath shuddering out. "Ditto."

She hugged him close. "We could hit the diner, raid the pie. It's still a little early for the drunk crowd," Nikki suggested, knowing how Kai often came into the diner on days he was upset about something. He never talked about it, simple ate his pie in relative silence and left.

He sighed, brought her hand up to the bandage on his shoulder. "Not enough pie in the world for tonight," he said softly.

Nikki nodded against him. “Do you know why I have a phoenix tattoo?”

He breathed in and out a few times. “No.”

“Because it shows that beauty can come from destruction, that life can rise from dead ash.” She squeezed him, holding him tight as if she would lose him if she didn’t. “It means that the future is sprung from the past. I never wanted to forget that.”

They held each other, let out held breaths, and tried to slip into sleep.

* * *

Kai woke an hour later, his legs aching. Nikki slept beside him, curled up, half on her stomach, half on her side, sheets bunched around her. For a few minutes, he watched her sleep, knowing he had to go back to the apartment, take his meds, and brace himself for the inevitable MLS attack his twitching muscles were warning him of.

But he could stay a few more minutes. Life used to suck, but it was familiar. Now everything had changed, and he felt groundless. Jon acted like Kai was still a lost, struggling, sick six-year-old. But maybe Kai wasn't a kid, and maybe he was cured, at least of his FS, but it didn't mean he knew what he was doing. Or even who he was anymore. So many personas; did he just need to find another one? Was there any "self" for him to be other than simply another mask to wear?

Some people drank, some got high, some jumped out of airplanes. Nikki had become his escape, his path to forgetting, his way to be himself and yet something else entirely. But what do you do when your drug no longer works? When the pain seeps through anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I would probably sign “fucked up” differently IRL than Kai does here (twist my middle finger on my temple counterclockwise with my thumb out) but then I wouldn’t have been able to make this pun. (The way they sign it is more like the verb than the adjective.)
> 
> Please let me know if you’re enjoy this! It means a lot!
> 
> I love kudos but comments are even better! I try to reply to all and I also accept asks on tumblr (even anon as long as you’re polite).
> 
> Hit me up there @plague-of-insomnia


	3. August 26, 2000

It was nearly seven in the morning, and Jon was dressed, showered, and ready to work. He'd hoped to take the day off, as Jo had suggested, to spend some time with Kai, celebrate his first full week of classes, but Jon had had too many appointments. Many of Jon's outpatients came from out of town, some as far as states away, and so Jon always made himself available on Saturdays, and sometimes even Sundays, to accommodate them. It meant many weeks he didn't have a full day off, but if he could send a kid back home able to breathe just _that_ much better, it was worth it. But now he had Kai to worry about, and Jon knew he should cut back his hours. He'd start next week, he thought to himself, as he rinsed his plate and mug in the sink.

He'd already made the resolution to try to take better care of himself, if not for his sake, then for Kai's, and had forced himself to eat breakfast, check his sugar, and inject himself as necessary before preparing to head out. His first patient wasn't until nine, but he always liked to get there a little early to catch up on his inpatients and any other work he might have had left over from the night before.

Before heading out the door, though, Jon decided to check on Kai. He knew Kai didn't need to be reminded to take his medicine, but his brother had come in relatively late the night before and he didn't want him to sleep in and forget. Crossing to his brother's nearly closed bedroom door, Jon knocked softly. No response. He listened for a moment; he could just hear Kai's breathing, although it wasn't the low, even respiration of sleep. Was his brother awake?

"Kai?" Jon asked in a whisper, easing the door open gently.

The room was dark except for the bedside lamp, and as Jon poked his head in, he could see Kai stretched out in bed, supine, his right forearm across his eyes. At some point, Kai had pushed the sheets aside, so Jon could see his brother wore the faded tee and cotton pants he'd slept in.

"Kai?" Jon tried again, drawing a bit closer. He was beginning to think Kai was sleeping, and he debated about whether he should wake him or leave him. Kai was a grown man, after all, and he wasn't irresponsible. Jon turned to go, when something finally clicked. Looking back for a moment, he saw what his ears had already realized; Kai's chest rising and falling in hesitant, quick, shallow breaths: he was tachypneic.

Instinctive panic began to rise in Jon, and he rushed closer. "Kai?!"

Kai didn't shift at all, but he did respond. "I'm fine," he said, but his words were clipped, as if said through gritted teeth.

Jon felt the adrenaline coursing through him as he took a few more steps toward his brother, where he could see Kai's left hand gripped the sheets tightly. Frustrated, Jon threaded his fingers through his hair, pulling up and grasping the locks before letting them fall back down. He sucked in a breath. Kai continued to pant, but otherwise was still.

"You pushed yourself too hard, didn't you," Jon said. It wasn't a question.

The air was thick with the near silence as Jon waited for an answer. Kai continued his measured breathing, alternating flexing and clenching the fist of his right hand, squeezing his fingers tight enough to pale the skin. Several minutes passed until finally Kai responded.

"Jon, please," Kai said, his voice nearly a whisper. Jon couldn't determine if it was a plea for help or a demand that Jon leave him alone.

For the second time, Jon debated what to do, noticing Kai's left hand grip tighter on the sheets, his breath hitched. Glancing down at Kai's legs, Jon could see Kai's right foot had pointed, arched, fixed in plantarflexion. Kai's knees trembled, shaking with spasms as the muscles of his legs contracted discordantly. That made Jon's mind up, and he disappeared into the adjoining bathroom, finding the bottle of water Kai'd left from the night before, and the prescription vial he needed, tapping two pills into his palm and returning to the bedroom.

Whether by choice or spasm, Kai had his left leg partially pulled up, his knee bent and hip slightly rotated, his spasms no longer visible except in the subtle twitch of his right toes, the foot still locked in point. Kai's arm remained draped over his eyes; his breaths had grown shallower. Carefully, Jon sat on the edge of the bed near Kai's shoulder, nudging his brother's elbow with the bottle. Kai didn't move immediately, finally dropping his arm to his side. Jon could see Kai's eyes were damp and slightly red, and when he blinked, Jon saw the glaze of pain in his brother's irises, their color deep blue. Kai's gaze followed Jon's outstretched hand, and he nodded, a subtle gesture just enough to convey the meaning.

Jon shifted, watching as Kai tried to pull himself up, pressing his palms against the mattress. But when Kai got to thirty degrees, his face paled, his face contorting, and he fell back, breathing heavily. Frowning, Jon pressed the pills to Kai's mouth, slipping them onto his tongue once Kai opened for him. Then he removed the cap on the water and eased a hand under his brother's head, lifting him enough to let him drink. Once he saw Kai swallow, Jon carefully lowered his brother's head.

" _Thanks_ ," Kai signed.

Jon squeezed Kai's wrist. "I can call Troy."

" _I'll be OK_ ," Kai signed with the same hand.

Jon sighed, reminded Kai had that Taylor stubbornness, too, even if he no longer had the name. "Let me help, then."

Jon didn't wait for an answer, shifting off the bed and laying one hand on Kai's hip, the other gripping the back of Kai's thigh, gently testing the joint to see how tight it was. Jon kept his eyes fixed on Kai's face as he tried to very slowly to relax his brother's leg.

"Kai, if I'm hurting more than I'm helping, you need to tell me, OK?"

Kai nodded, and Jon readjusted his grip, then sucked in a breath.

"OK. Deep breath."

Jon carefully rotated the joint, slowly easing Kai's leg straight, pausing to massage the tiny muscles in the junction of Kai's leg. Jon stopped instantly when he heard Kai moan, the first sound of pain allowed to slip his lips.

"I'm OK. . . . Keep going." Kai held his right hand tented over his eyes.

It took several slow minutes, but Jon finally was able to stretch Kai's leg fully. Then, Jon turned to feeling the muscles of his brother's calves on each side to see how bad the myotonia was. It was worst in Kai's right foot and calf, so much that even a touch was painful. Jon frowned.

"Do you want me to try to massage you loose, or just wait for the meds?"

Kai didn't respond, so Jon leaned in a bit, forming his right hand into the ASL "K," touching his index finger to his nose, twisting his wrist, then touching it to Kai's nose.

"It'll be 'K, K," Jon said.

Kai dropped his hand and opened his eyes, smiling faintly. "God, you haven't done that since I was a little kid," Kai said, and Jon was relieved to hear only a faint edge of pain in his brother's words.

The gesture was one Jon had invented when they were children, back when Kai was very young and they both only knew a few signs and the alphabet. It had always been Jon's way of ensuring Kai that everything would be OK, that Jon would take care of him.

Jon sat on the end of the bed, taking Kai's right foot and gently massaging his arch to try to release the muscles.

"You always told me . . . it'd be OK. . . . And I always believed you."

Jon sighed, but didn't stop massaging; he could feel the fibers relaxing slightly, slowly. "You were little; of course you did."

Kai shook his head. "No. Because you always did . . . make it OK . . . if only for a little while." Jon was relieved to hear Kai's voice growing more normal; his breathing was easing, and Jon hoped it wouldn't be much longer until Kai felt the full effects of the muscle relaxant.

Jon moved up to Kai's lower legs to try to loosen the muscles there.

"Do you remember . . . after our parents died . . . and we were separated from Sara . . . that temporary boys' home they sent us to?"

"Yes," Jon said, working his thumb into the side of Kai's right gastrocnemis. "The room they put us in was like a prison cell. Long and narrow, barely wide enough for the two bunk beds." Jon remembered the room well; he'd returned to it often enough in nightmares when he was younger.

"And it smelled really strong of . . . something . . . paint?"

Jon nodded and focused on his work, grateful he'd had Troy teach him some techniques. "Disinfectant. Ammonia."

Kai inhaled a stiff breath. "It triggered an attack."

Jon swallowed, his voice sad when he spoke. "All I had was your rescue inhaler. You did so much better with the nebulizer." Jon hesitated, took a few breaths, trying to keep his voice level. "I wanted to get help, but I was so afraid. . . . Afraid if they took you away I'd never see you again." The echoes of his brother's strained breathing reverberating in that cell were as loud in Jon's memory as if his ears were hearing it now.

Kai slid his hand down until his fingertips touched Jon's. Jon took the hint and let his hand slip into his brother's, enjoying the brief squeeze of encouragement Kai offered before they drew apart again. "You held me, like you always did, and told me it'd be ''K, K,' and the next day they took me to the hospital." 

Jon could feel Kai's muscles relaxing, even as his own tensed at the memory.

"They let you go with me because I was hysterical without you." Kai's voice trailed off a bit, and Jon shifted to see if Kai had fallen asleep. Part of him hoped so, because it meant Kai was out of pain and Jon could force the rest of the memory out of his mind. Unfortunately, Kai continued, a bit lazily; the meds were obviously beginning to kick in. "Then I guess I lost consciousness, or maybe they put me under to intubate me . . . because I woke up, my throat sore, and you were gone."

"Kai--" Jon's voice broke despite his best efforts.

"I thought you were gone forever, like Mom, Dad, and Sara."

"I'm so fucking sorry," Jon said, barely letting Kai finish. "I tried. I tried to stay with you. It took three men and a sedative to tear me away," Jon said almost in a whisper.

Kai surprised Jon with laughter. "You seemed so big then, but I know what I weighed at 14; you couldn't have been more than 125 pounds." Kai's smile faded, and he muttered, "Everything fuck-fuck," as if he were speaking in ASL: _everything's so fucked_. Then Kai closed his eyes, seemingly on the cusp of sleep.

Jon frowned, smoothed his hands on Kai's shins; the gesture had always comforted Kai as a child when his muscles ached. "It'll be 'K, K," Jon said, almost to himself. "Sleep."

Kai mumbled something unintelligible, and he relaxed into unconsciousness at last. Jon closed his eyes briefly. He and Kai had avoided talking about the past as much as possible, and neither of them had mentioned that day. Jon gripped his hair, trying not to remember how he'd screamed himself hoarse, fought and kicked and flailed as hard as he could until he'd felt a sharp pain, and minutes later, the veil of unconsciousness had closed on him. He'd woken hours later, sore and groggy, back in the narrow room, the smell of ammonia thick in his nostrils. His first thought had been of Kai, but he'd never heard anything. For all Jon knew, Kai had died. In fact, he'd convinced himself that Kai was gone; it was the only explanation his fourteen-year-old mind could conceive to explain why they wouldn't tell him anything about Kai, why they wouldn't let him go to him, why he never saw him again. Jon had spent ten years racked with guilt, wondering if he could have done more to help his brother, that blasted room returning again and again to push him awake. 

Sleep had never come easily to Jon, even before, but that day was the beginning of his clinical insomnia. It was easier to avoid sleep than have the same nightmare return, night after night, twisted so that it always ended with Kai dying in his arms in that fucking prison cell.

* * *

Jon pushed himself up, knowing he had to cancel his appointments. Kai's MLS attacks often came in multiples, and although Kai had dealt with them on his own for more than ten years, he didn't have to anymore.

* * *

Kai woke several hours later. He felt heavy, like gravity had somehow magnified. His brain was foggy, and his vision blurry; it took several blinks and rubbing of eyes before it cleared. Multiple minutes of slow breathing before his mind came back to him as well, spurred on by a throbbing ache in his hips, followed by the wave of general soreness in his legs. A subtle pain between his neck and shoulder on each side. He let out a bit of a groan as he remembered. The party, _Nikki_ , getting home late, waking up with his muscles spasming, Jon easing him through it as if they were still kids.

Kai sighed and decided to take inventory, seeing which muscles were willing to obey him post-attack, and which were still stiff. Nothing until his hips, which complained angrily as he pushed himself up, supporting himself with his hands. He glanced over and noticed Jon'd done him the courtesy of leaving his chair within easy reach, so Kai sucked in a breath and shifted his body toward the edge of the bed, using his hands to ease his stubborn legs over the lip, ignoring the pain in his hips.

One hand on the bed, another on his chair, he transferred, thinking how good a hot bath would feel right now, but knowing he still had his meds to take and probably should eat something, too. Then probably should do his range of motion exercises, see if he could stave off a second round. Man, he was tired. Probably the combination of only a few hours' sleep, the lingering effects of the MR, and the attack itself.

Kai pushed into the bathroom in a sigh, wondering how long it'd take him to recover from this. Part of it would depend on whether he had another attack, but even if he didn't, it was hard to say. His MLS had gotten so unpredictable lately. Kai knew it was unlikely he'd be fully back on his feet by Monday, which meant he'd have to skip class, go in his chair, or. . . . He sighed and pulled out his pillcase, checking the pills before popping them in his mouth and washing them down quickly with some tap water. If his right leg was strong enough, he could manage with one locked KAFO on his left, and while it wasn't ideal, and would make his limp far more pronounced. . . . Kai stared at his reflection. Who was he kidding? Even if he'd managed to chuck the chains of his FS, his MLS wasn't going anywhere. It was only getting worse. He'd already lost voluntary movement in his left ankle and foot. It was only a matter of time before the muscles of his legs, both, from ankle to hip, stopped responding as well. But he didn't have to think of that, he thought, as he grabbed his Amphotericin inhaler, instead, letting his mind turn to the night before. _What was I thinking?_ Kai thought. _I wasn't_.

After taking two puffs, frowning at the taste he still wasn't used to, Kai pulled off his tee, staring at his reflection, smoothing his fingers over the bandages. He pulled each off, a quick tug, and examined the scabs, fingering the marks with his fingertips, resisting the urge to reopen the wounds. Physical pain was always so much easier. You clenched your teeth. You bared it. You took a pill. And if worst came to worse, you passed out for a while. 

Approximately thirty minutes later, after taking his meds and adding more disinfectant with fresh bandages to the bites on his shoulder, Kai rolled himself out of his bedroom slowly, surprised when the smell of garlic and pasta sauce met his nose. Pushing himself further toward the kitchen, his chagrin increased when he saw Jon seated at the kitchen table, reclined in one chair and his feet propped up on another. Kai had to shake his head as if he were trying to wake from a dream as he realized Jon wasn't dressed for work, as he had been earlier, but instead had slipped on a pair of jeans and a T-shirt. Who knew Jon even had casual clothes? Thankfully, the world hadn't completely spun off its axis, because Kai could clearly see now what Jon was reading: the latest issue of the medical journal _CHEST_.

"Smells good."

Jon dropped the magazine and stared at Kai for a moment before smiling faintly. "How are you feeling?"

Kai shrugged, pushed himself closer, nudging one of the chairs out of the way so he could pull into the table. "Fine," Kai responded with the ease that comes from years of down-playing his feelings. In reality, he was sore, groggy, and grumpy, wondering how long till the hypotonia passed, and whether or not it'd come on the heels of a second attack.

Jon frowned, staring at Kai, skeptical.

"Jon. I'll live," Kai said, shooting his brother a look that said, _Just leave it._

Jon nodded, reluctant. "I made a vegetarian lasagna. It's ready, just warming, if you're hungry." Kai's eyes narrowed, one eyebrow arched, and Jon added, "I ate this morning. But I figured you'd be hungry by the time you woke up."

"Thanks. Yeah, I could probably eat," Kai said. He felt a faint pang of hunger, but mostly his mind still felt a little fuzzy, hungover from the muscle relaxant. 

Jon pushed himself up. "OK, you relax and I'll make us a couple plates. Then maybe we can just chill and watch a movie?"

Kai couldn't help but look at Jon, confused. Maybe it was his drug-addled brain, but was Jon actually taking the day off?

Jon's voice carried as he went to the kitchen. "Don't look at me like that. You know I've been meaning to spend more time with you."

Kai frowned, fishing for the journal with one hand to slide it over on the table. Jon had mentioned for months how he meant to take a day off a week so they could make up for lost ground, but so far something always came up to change their plans. Kai was used to be alone, and he knew Jon's work was important, so he tried not to let it bother him. Still, it made him . . . uneasy wasn't quite the word for it. Unsettled? That it took a moderate MLS attack for Jon to finally live up to his previously empty promises.

Still, even though he would have been fine without Jon, it had been nice to have his brother help ease the locked muscles in his feet and calves, and waking up to food wasn't bad either. Jon wasn't much of a chef, but the fact that he made any effort was still touching. Kai flipped through the journal absently, lost in thought.

"There's an interesting article in there about pneumococcal pneumonia," Jon said, as if Kai were really reading it, setting a plate and silverware off to one side before sinking into his seat opposite.

Kai frowned and closed the magazine, setting it aside. "This looks good," Kai said, pulling the plate closer and cutting it with the side of his fork.

Jon shrugged, taking a forkful himself. "I don't think anyone's been killed by my cooking yet, but there's always a first time for everything."

Kai found himself laughing. Jon didn't often joke; it wasn't even that it was that funny, but it was nice, the two of them, sharing a meal together, relaxed. Kai tasted the food. It wasn't winning any awards, but it was good. The spinach especially. Jon had read an article a few months previously that suggested a correlation between a vegetarian diet and reduced exacerbations of MLS. So far Kai wasn't sure if it worked or not, but he was walking more, needing his motility aids less, so maybe it did help.

They ate for a while in silence, the only sound the scrape of fork against plate. Jon got up at one point to get them each something to drink, and when he sat back down, Kai felt the need to speak up.

"Listen . . . I'm sorry for earlier."

Jon looked up, a quick jerk of his head that tossed some hair into his face. "What?"

Kai shook his head, knowing Jon had misunderstood. "What I said this morning. You know. About _that day_."

They both returned to their food, picking at it; Kai focused on pulling a leaf of spinach out with one tine of his fork, although he did glance up to check his brother's face.

"It's OK," Jon said after a moment with a slight shrug, not looking up.

 _It's not_ , Kai thought. _The past is past and should stay there_. "I just don't want you to think that I hated you or blamed you or anything for leaving me," Kai finally said, the words rushing out. It was partially a lie, but Kai said what he knew Jon needed to hear.

At six, Kai had struggled to really understand what had happened to their parents, and then Sara was taken from them, then Jon from him. Initially, Kai had been convinced it was something he'd done, that it was his fault somehow that they'd all left him. Then he met David.

Because Kai spoke only in ASL, once he'd recovered from the ammonia-induced attack, he'd been sent to County House and put in a room with David, profoundly deaf since birth and a bit of a troublemaker. David's parents had divorced when he was barely a toddler, and his mother had died not long after that. David's father had agreed to take him at first, but quickly found dealing with a "retarded" three-year-old was too difficult, surrendering him to the state. After bouncing through several foster homes, David finally landed at CH not long before Kai.

Because of his rocky road through the system, David had believed that CH was a place to dump the kids no one wanted. David convinced Kai that his parents and siblings didn't want an abnormal kid, and so had gotten rid of him. David's theory was lent credence by the fact that Sara's birth had completely changed the Taylor family dynamic. Naturally, another child alters the relationships among a family; the youngest is no longer so, but it was more than that. Sara had been beautiful and healthy from birth, unlike Kai; a relief to his mother's guilt-addled mind. Sara was their mother's clear favorite, so it wasn't difficult for Kai to believe they'd want to cast him aside. But Jon? Jon had taken care of him his whole life, especially after Sara was born when his parents had other worries. It had bewildered and wounded Kai deeply to think that Jon had abandoned him as well.

For at least a year, Kai had still held out hope that Jon would come for him, finally having to resolve himself that CH would most likely be his home for ten more years. Once he'd grown, Kai of course knew what David had told him wasn't true, and he realized that Jon had been as much a victim of the system as Kai had. So when he'd finally reunited with Jon, Kai was happy to see his brother and held no bitterness for him personally. But Kai never told Jon any of this, and he wasn't about to start now. Even if it was the misguided misunderstandings of a six-year-old, Kai knew how much that knowledge would hurt his brother.

"It'd be understandable," Jon began, piling their plates and silverware together and standing to take them to the sink, "if you did blame me. For abandoning you." His face was sad, but he quickly retreated to the kitchen, obviously to avoid having to meet Kai's eyes.

Kai sighed and followed him, staring up at his brother's back while Jon rinsed the dishes. "Jon."

Jon ignored him, scrubbing the plates, and Kai sighed, crossing to the drawer where they kept the foil and pulling out the roll, laying it in his lap before going to the counter where the rest of the lasagna stood in its casserole dish.

"I'm sorry," Kai said again, testing the dish to see how hot it was before tearing off some foil to cover it. "I know we both had an unspoken agreement, but I always get a bit wonky on that stuff . . ."

Jon stopped what he was doing, but he didn't turn around. "Jenny called."

Kai's hands froze on the edge of the dish, where he'd been closing the foil. "What?"

"While you were sleeping. Apparently she got offered a position at Loyola in Chicago. She's moving."

Kai abandoned the lasagna on the counter and pushed closer to Jon, laying a hand on his brother's back. Jon turned slowly, looking down, but not at Kai, his hands on either side of him, gripping the counter.

"She called because she claims she has some of my stuff she wanted to give back before she goes." Jon sighed heavily, stepped around Kai and grabbed the lasagna with one hand, opening the fridge and shoving it in. "I know I shouldn't have agreed to meet her. I mean, if I haven't missed the stuff in two years, then it's probably not important, but . . ."

Kai rolled backward a bit, hands on his rims, head tilted, struggling to find his brother's eyes. "Maybe it's a ruse. Maybe she wants you back."

Jon laughed, lifting his head and shaking it before carding his fingers through his hair. "I doubt it."

"Well, if she did . . . would you go with her? To Chicago?"

"What?" Jon pushed out of the kitchen toward the table, where he leaned on it, palms spread on its surface.

Again, Kai followed his brother. "You could go if you wanted."

"My research is here," Jon said, shaking his head. "My patients. You." Jon turned, perched on the tabletop. "We spent ten years apart, I'm not--"

Kai interrupted, his voice genuine. "Jon. Putting everything aside, if Jenny wanted you back, would you go?"

Jon sighed, swept his hand over his face, then through his hair again before shaking his head. "No. That ship's sailed. Maybe it was my fault. Maybe it never would have worked to begin with." Jon sighed again, his fingers pulling at the strands of hair between his fingers, his eyes downcast.

"OK," Kai said, although he didn't fully believe Jon. If Jon was really, completely past Jenny, then why agree to meet her? Kai didn't have long to think on this, though, because Jon soon turned the tables.

"What about you?" Jon asked, dropping his hands to his thighs.

Kai laughed. "I think Jenny's a little old for me. Plus, I don't think I could ever date a doctor. Too creepy." Kai smirked.

Jon frowned, but there was a hint of a smile hidden in it. "I mean Becca. You guys never officially ended things, but . . ."

Kai sighed and let his shoulders sink. "I don't know." Kai shook his head, frowning sadly. He hesitated before speaking softly. "Some days I pray she'll call, apologize, tell me she's changed her mind, that she was wrong. . . . Then there are others when I remember what she did, how much she hurt me, and . . . I mean, I don't blame her." Kai's dug his heel into his left thigh, his eyes down, avoiding meeting his brother's gaze. "Can't really blame her for how she acted."

Jon slammed a hand against the table and pushed himself up, anger visible in the tension of his body. "You were dying and she cheated on you!" Jon spat, face red.

Kai let the words hang in the air for a moment, reaching back and smoothing his hand on the back of his neck. When he spoke, his words were quiet and small. "I'm sorry, Jon. For Jenny."

Jon shook his head. "I made my choice. If I could go back and chose all over again--her or you--don't think I wouldn't pick you again in a heartbeat." Jon glowered at Kai until his brother reluctantly met his eyes. "Don't you dare blame yourself for what happened between me and her. And don't blame yourself for Becca, either." Jon's hands formed into fists at his side. "Because--I'm sorry--but that bitch would have cheated on you anyway."

Kai pushed to the table, draped his arms across it, and rested his forehead on them. "Maybe," Kai said, not very convincingly, his voice muffled. And part of him prayed his MLS would flare again, because that pain he could deal with.


	4. August 27, 2000

Although Kai hadn't said it, Jon knew Kai's MLS had flared up, milder than the first attack, and that his legs were still weak. So Jon had simply nodded when Kai'd announced after breakfast that he intended to hit the Y and swim for a while. Jon had patients in the afternoon, rescheduled from the day before, but what met him with dread was the meeting he had with Jenny in less than an hour.

He changed his tie about thirty times, disgusted with himself whenever his eyes met their reflection in the mirror. Was Kai right? Was Jenny still interested and this some kind of last-ditch attempt to see if he was, too? Jon shook his head, pulling the tie out of his collar and tossing it back on the bed. He was being ridiculous. Jenny had asked him to chose between her and Kai, and he'd sided with Kai. Jon acknowledged, as he slipped on yet another tie, this one a dark, not-quite-navy blue, that he had most likely been difficult. Things had been easy between Jon and Jenny at first, but once it looked like Kai might not live long enough to be transplanted--or worse, be too sick for one--Jon had thrown himself into his work, into doing everything he could to try to keep Kai's strength and morale up, and he'd gotten a little . . . focused. But, as Jon had told Kai, he didn't regret it. He would do it again. He couldn't give up his work, even now that Kai was hopefully cured, and if Jenny couldn't understand that, then . . .

Jon sighed heavily, pulling at the knot to adjust it before smoothing back his hair. This was a mistake, he knew it. Especially since he would never leave Jonesville, especially not while Kai was still here. Whatever he and Jenny had had, may have had, was gone, irrevocable. Over the past year especially, as Kai recovered from the transplant and years of weakness, Jon had convinced himself he didn't miss her, didn't need her. He had his work and what little was left of his family, and nothing else mattered. But as he stared at his reflection, the color of the tie bringing out the blue in his eyes, he knew he'd been deceiving himself. If Jenny were willing to take him back, he knew he'd leap at the chance--so long as he didn't have to abandon his work or his brother. But hadn't that been exactly the reason they'd split in the first place?

Shaking his head, Jon clipped his pager to his belt, shoved his keys and wallet into his pocket, and snatched his white coat off the hanger. He'd keep his meeting with Jenny short and head straight to the hospital, where he knew a pile of work waited on his desk for him, eager to keep his mind occupied.

* * *

Renee lay on her bed, one knee bent, her opposite ankle resting on it, rotating the joint, making circles in the air with her foot. Her hair spread around her as she stared up at the ceiling. One hand held the phone to her ear, while the other rested on her stomach.

"I'm fine, Maw Maw," Renee said for the tenth time so far. Her grandmother, Evangeline, had called to ask about her first week of classes, worried that Renee wouldn't be warm enough or eat enough, or a number of other similar worries. "It won't get cold till October, and as far as the food goes, there's nothing a little Crystal's can't fix." Evangeline had insisted Renee stock up with hot sauce, Blue Runner beans, and other non-perishables from home before she'd left New Orleans to go north for the semester.

Evangeline sighed heavily. "I just don't understand why you had to go so far north. What's wrong with LSU?"

Renee bobbed her foot nervously. "Maw Maw, we've been over this. I needed to get away. And the architecture program here is really good."

"Oh, hun, don't I know it. But that don't mean we don't miss you. Luc especially. He's been trying to convince your daddy to let him go to NOCCA for his art."

"Yeah, well . . ." Renee began, dropping her legs and crossing her ankles. "It's more likely the pope'll tap dance naked in Time Square," Renee finished dryly. 

The New Orleans Center for Creative Arts offered half-day programs for high school students talented enough to pursue the arts; students who were accepted attended their normal classes at their regular high school half the day, and spent the other half at the new campus in the Marigny, focusing on writing, music, theater, dance, or visual arts. When Renee was in high school, she'd begged her parents for permission to attend for visual arts, and had been refused. She needed to focus on her academics, they told her, on realistic goals instead of frivolous "hobbies." As talented as she was, though, Luc was infinitely more so; he had an innate eye for beauty, and art came to him as naturally as breathing. Renee could only imagine the kind of work he could produce with the training he'd get at NOCCA.

Renee sighed. “I guess I could call them, try to convince them. It’d be a shame to let Luc’s talent go to waste.”

“You should, hun,” her grandmother said over the phone. “I know you had to do your thing, but it’s been tough on him, you being gone.”

“JP giving him trouble?” Renee sat up. She and her older brother had always butted heads, and JP and his sense of hyper-masculinity didn’t mesh well with their younger brother’s more artistic inclinations. Even though, at twenty-five, JP no longer lived at home, working for their father, and with parents who worshiped him, meant that JP was likely around the Poche residence more often than not. And without Renee there as an insulating buffer, she sometimes worried about Luc, who, at fourteen, was shy and quiet, yet somehow did almost as good a job as Renee did of pushing JP’s buttons.

“You know how it is with those two. It’d mean a lot to him if you gave him a call, and even more if you managed to convince that stubborn son-in-law of mine to let the damn kid pursue art if that’s where his heart is.”

Renee curled her legs up and nodded, smiling at her silliness. “I miss you, and Paw Paw, and Luc,” Renee said, neglecting to mention the rest of her family.

“Believe it or not, but I think JP misses you, too. In his own way. Brings you up mostly to complain about why you didn’t just go to Tulane.”

Renee picked at her right big toe. “You know why I had to go, Maw Maw.”

Evangeline sighed. “I do. Your parents sure don’t. They had Jude over to dinner the other night.”

At the mention of Jude’s name, Renee’s blood momentarily ran cold. “For true?”

“For true, hun. I didn’t even know about it until he showed up at the front door, and that stupid daughter of mine was practically on her knees licking his shoes.”

Renee grunted at the visual; it was metaphoric, but not far from the truth. “He’s a jerk. A jerk they hated when we were dating, and now that he’s going to be a doctor, suddenly he walks on water!”

Renee had originally met Jude through her older brother, JP–they’d been fraternity brothers at Tulane, and Renee, sixteen and impressionable, had been completely smitten by the older man. He had dark, straight, thick hair he kept short but long enough to show its body, and his face–very New Orleanian in its look, with a rounded nose and strong jaw–had captivated her, especially his eyes–a light green almost gray that was eerie yet entrancing. His strong shoulders and charming grin had only added to his allure, and it wasn’t long before they’d started sneaking around, seeing each other behind her family’s backs.

At first, it had been great. Jude hadn’t been her first sexual experience–that went to a guy she’d dated briefly and hooked up with after their freshman homecoming game–but Jude was the first real serious boyfriend she’d ever had, and first true sexual relationship. And the thrill of knowing how her parents wouldn’t approve, especially since Jude was five years older, only enhanced the experience. She was young, in love–or so she thought–and she’d believed he’d loved her, too.

“You just need to find yourself a good, handsome Midwestern boy to bring home to us. Someone who . . .”

Her grandmother’s voice trailed off, but Renee’s mind supplied the missing thoughts. _Who won’t hurt you? Who knows what “no” means?_ She shuddered, but then thought of Kai. He was the first guy since Jude she’d found herself entranced by, fantasizing about. The first she thought she might be able to _be_ with.

“Maybe you should tell them,” Evangeline continued after a pause, her voice quiet. “You know that’s not something I can do for you. Although, God, I’ve wanted to. Your paw paw and I left as soon as he showed up. I couldn’t even look at him.”

“It’s all right,” Renee said, hugging her legs to her chest. When she’d called her grandmother, she had hoped for a few laughs, not this, not remembering _him_ , the real reason she’d gone a thousand miles north for college.

“No, it isn’t, sweetie. You might be all right now, but what he did is not, and never will be _all right_. All right?”

That forced the shade of a smile on Renee’s face, and she wiped her cheeks with the back of her wrist, not even realizing until the dampness met her skin that she’d been crying.

“There is this boy,” Renee said suddenly. “It may not be anything, but he’s nice.”

“Good,” Evangeline said with a smile in her voice. “You need a nice boy who will treat you right.”

Renee let her body unfurl and sink back down on the bed. “Maw Maw, how did you know Paw Paw was the one? Did it take a while, or did you just know?”

Her grandmother let out an amused chuckle, then took in a breath. “I think I knew the moment I met him. I used to smoke back then, you know. Not a lot, mostly because I thought it made me look older and more sophisticated. I’d gone to Pontchartrain beach with some girlfriends, and we were hanging out, giggling and chatting, and I kept trying to light my cigarette, and the wind kept snatching the flame away. And there was your paw paw, suddenly, lighter in hand, with this steal-the-moon grin on his face. I think I fell for him right then and there.”

The two women sighed together. “Thanks, Maw Maw. I love you. Take care of Luc for me, will you? And I’ll give them a call. I’ll talk to you next week.”

Renee hung up the phone and stared up at her ceiling for a moment. Tomorrow. Tomorrow she’d see Kai again, and maybe she’d build up the courage to ask him to coffee. Maybe they couldn’t be more than friends. But she’d take what she could get.

* * *

Jon pulled into a parking spot across from the Horatio Jones Park fifteen minutes early for his meeting with Jenny. Pushing his way out of his car, he leaned against the door, watching what looked like a peewee soccer game underway in the field in the distance, a sea of bobbing boys in brightly colored uniforms kicking the ball around with more enthusiasm than skill, parents yelling encouragingly from their folding chairs on the sidelines. The sun came down warm on the top of Jon's head.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in the sweet smell of grass and letting the distant sounds of the soccer game filter around him, staring hard at the brilliant color that danced behind his lids. He should plan a trip. Take Kai somewhere for a weekend. He was well enough to travel, and it might be nice for the two of them to get away. But where? The idea of Chicago crossed his mind until he remembered Jenny and frowned.

The crunch of tires on pavement, followed by the cutting of a car's engine drew him to open his eyes. A silver BMW 325 was parked two spaces over, and he could hear the tinking of the engine as a tall, thin woman with long dirty blond hair stepped out. She turned, shutting the car door, and Jon temporarily lost his breath. Her designer sunglasses perfectly framed her face, drawing his eye to her pointed chin and small mouth. The light breeze tossed her hair about her shoulders, catching the light and making her look like a model in a shampoo commercial.

"Jon," she said simply without removing her glasses, walking to her trunk, which she'd popped open. Leaning forward, she pushed the door up and leaned over, peering in, balancing with one long leg outstretched in the air before settling her feet together and standing up with a small box in her arms.

"Jenny," Jon finally managed to echo, crossing to retrieve the box, squinting a bit against the sun. "You look good."

She shrugged. "You look surprisingly rested."

Jon sighed and tried to smile, although he was certain his cheeks failed him. "Kai's doing well. Believe it or not but I took yesterday off."

She snorted, but managed her own smile, a veneer, perhaps, but it still made a warmth fill Jon's stomach.

They stood together in silence for a moment, and Jon shifted the box, peering into it to try to determine its contents. From what he could see, it was all junk, and when he bothered to glance back up at Jenny, he saw she'd removed her sunglasses and was waiting to meet his eyes.

The deep green of her irises betrayed her reticence, and Jon realized Kai was right. This meeting had nothing to do with the box of junk Jon held with one arm, rested on his hip.

She bit her lip and thrust her hand into her pocket, hesitating for a moment. Her teeth briefly caught her lower lip as she slowly pulled her hand out, fisted. 

"Just one more thing," she said. "Something of yours you should have back."

Jon watched, and as she held up her hand, palm up, slowly opening her fingers, his stomach sank into his feet and he nearly dropped the box. The sun caught and reflected in the facets of the diamond of the ring nestled in the grooves of Jenny's palm.

Jon stared at it for a moment, unable to move, struggling to process the finality of the gesture.

"I know you had told me to keep it in case I changed my mind. But I'm not coming back to Jonesville. It didn't feel right to hold onto it anymore."

Jon felt her take his free hand and place the ring firmly in it. Forcing himself to look up at her, he saw a wane smile as she pulled her sunglasses back on. Already crossing around her car to shut the trunk and make for the driver's door, she looked back at him.

"You're doing good work, Jon. Hope I get to read your research in _JAMA_ someday." She pulled her door open, and just before she slid in, she added, "I really hope Kai does well." A subtle nod of her head, then she sank into the seat, pulled her door shut, started her engine, and pulled carefully away.

Gripping the ring almost painfully, the box pressing against his ribs as he held it with his opposite hand, Jon knew he'd never see her again.


	5. September 1, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Renee finds Kai after not seeing him for a week and they finally sit down for coffee together though Kai is discovering hiding his past is going to be much harder than he realized. Later, Kai tries to find consolation in pie (and Nikki), fearing that the attack he had earlier in the day may be a sign of trouble.

Renee had resigned herself to the fact that she might not see Kai again. He hadn't come to any of the classes they shared together; she'd spent most of each class searching the vastness of the large auditoriums hoping maybe he'd simply chosen another seat, and still she hadn't spotted him. It was possible she'd missed him in the crowd, but with each class without seeing him, she'd become convinced he was either one of those students who showed up the first week and then didn't appear again until the exam, or he'd simply changed his schedule.

She'd even taken to dawdling around campus--the library, the cafeteria, the student center--hoping she'd at least see him in passing if nothing else. But with such a large campus, she knew the odds of just "running into" him were low, and she tried to shelf her disappointment. After all, she'd only shared a few hours with him, and it wasn't like he was interested in her anyway. I mean, how could he be?

Renee sighed to herself as she crossed one of the smaller quads. She knew she should head home. She started at Lost Apple Books tomorrow, and she had a lot of work to do, even if it was only the second week of classes. At least they had Monday off for the holiday, not that Renee had any plans. Diane was going up to visit her family; in fact, she probably had already left, Renee realized. Not in a particular hurry to get back to the empty apartment, she decided maybe she'd grab a coffee at The Chipped Mug and try to get through some of her reading surrounded by the smell of roasted espresso and muted conversation.

The sun was hot, but not unpleasant, as she passed through the mostly empty quad, thinking of Kai and hating herself for thinking of him. She was 19, but acting like a middle schooler with a puppy crush. She just couldn't get the image of his smile, his eyes, his hair, his unusual long fingers out of her mind, no matter how she tried, and studying her core classes only made it worse, because they made her think of him even more.

Renee was so lost in her thoughts she almost walked right by him. But something made her turn her head just as she walked past the benches near the halfway mark of the quad. He sat on one of them, lengthwise, both his legs pulled up and stretched out in front of him, the shade of one of the trees casting leafy shadows over his shoulders. His bag was wedged behind his back, and he had a textbook open in his lap, an arm on the top of the bench, the other, a rubber band on his wrist, propped the pages open. His head was bent, his hair falling loose and partially covering his face, the sun catching it and making his entire head glow, an artful contrast of light and shadow. God, he looked even more beautiful in sunlight than he did indoors, Renee thought, feeling her stomach flutter. Even though she hadn't seen his face, she knew it was him.

Unable to contain her excitement, she rushed up to him, stopping with halting breath just in front of the bench. "Hey."

He looked up; dark wrap-around sunglasses shielded his eyes from her, but she could still see the shift of his expressions, first surprised, his eyebrows arched, his mouth slightly open; then annoyed or angry, eyebrows dipping, mouth closing into a frown; before wiping everything clean with a smile that didn't _look_ forced. Maybe he was just irritated about being disturbed.

"Sorry. If you're busy, I can go . . ." she said, feeling her cheeks heat.

He reached back to scratch the back of his head. "It's OK." His nose wrinkled for a moment before he smiled again.

"I just hadn't seen you around. Thought maybe you changed your schedule or something." Renee tried to see through the lenses; even though he was smiling, she still sensed tension in his shoulders and by the way he pursed his lips seemingly without realizing it.

Kai folded his book closed; Renee could see it was their World History text, and shifted it in his lap, rubbing his left thigh a bit. For a moment, she didn't think he was going to answer, his gaze fixed downward.

Had she said something wrong? She noticed he kept his legs awfully still. As much as he seemed to fidget, his hands rarely staying long in one place, it seemed discordant, strange.

Finally, he lifted his head, again smiling, and said with a shrug, "Something came up and I couldn't make it to class." He paused, and Renee found herself holding her breath. "I missed you."

Renee exhaled with relief. "You could borrow my notes, if you want," Renee said, then remembered Diane's suggestion. "Or . . ." Renee looked toward the opposite end of the quad, then back to Kai. "Or we could go grab a cup of coffee at The Chipped Mug and I could fill you in on what you missed?"

Kai's face seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if it couldn't decide on an emotion, before he finally smiled. "Sure, that'd be great."

Renee gestured with her thumb toward the opposite end of campus. "If you're free now, we could walk together . . . it's not far from here, actually."

Renee couldn't tell his reaction, because he immediately covered his face with his hand, taking a breath before pulling it away to respond. He wasn't smiling; she couldn't quite gauge his expression, even now that his face was in full view. Kai almost looked . . . tired, but that couldn't be right, could it? Weary, maybe? Or maybe . . . it suddenly hit Renee: what if Kai was just being polite earlier, and he didn't really want to spend time with her? Maybe he'd thought she had meant "grab coffee" in the generic sense, and now that it was concrete, actually happening, he was trying to formulate an excuse to avoid having to meet with her?

Perhaps her apprehension showed clearly in her face, because Kai reached for her wrist, taking her hand in his; it seemed so small in the midst of his palm, and she felt herself tingle as she felt those round, calloused fingertips cradle her skin.

"It's OK," he said softly, almost to himself, staring at their hands before looking up. "I have a few things I need to do but I'll meet you there in twenty minutes?" He smiled, but it wasn't like his other smiles. This one was softer, more genuine somehow, a more complex grin than she'd seen before. Even with his eyes obscured, this grin seemed to show more of Kai than he'd let her see so far, and it made a warmth flutter up in her stomach.

"OK. Great," she said, feeling her face light up. "OK," she said again, bouncing, not wanting to leave him, but obviously needing to go. "Um, I guess I'll see you in a bit, then. I'll go copy my notes, I guess. Bye," she added, walking backwards toward the library for several feet so she didn't have to look away from him.

Kai laughed and waved, and Renee felt like she was floating even once she turned a corner and he was long out of her sight.

* * *

Kai kept his smile up until he saw Renee disappear around the corner. Then he let his entire body relax--at least the part of it that would--and released a long breath. His heart was still fluttering in his chest, whether from nerves or the budding attraction he felt between them, he wasn't sure. Kai sighed as he reached behind him for his backpack, stuffing his book into it before pulling it on. He hadn't been sitting here that long, and it wasn't too hot, especially in the shade–not that he could stand to be in the sun long due to the antirejection meds–but he was already sweating through his brace socks, and what he really wanted was to go home and take his KAFOs off.

Checking the knee locks with his fingers, he used his hands to ease his legs off the bench one by one, pushing himself carefully to his feet, placing most of his weight on his right leg. Making sure his left leg was extended, he locked the joint, finally shifting to balance on both feet. Kai looked around for Renee, even though he knew she was long gone, and was grateful for the hybrid plastic/leather orthotics he'd switched to recently. The upper, thigh portion was more the traditional leather he was used to, but the lower half, below the knee, was made of molded plastic that not only gave his calves and ankles more support, it meant they fit in his shoes with a footplate instead of attaching on the outside with a metal stirrup. Which made his braces nearly invisible under his jeans.

Kai shook his head as he carefully made his way to his car, keeping his left leg locked and allowing his right to swing freely. Why did he care so much whether Renee or anyone else, for that matter, knew the truth--or even part of it? She was bound to notice, if not now, at some point soon; it wasn't like he could hide at home forever. After avoiding campus the entire week, today, he'd meant to go to class. He'd gotten up on time, gone through the motions, ignoring the lingering aches in his legs that were just enough to make him want to change his mind. He'd put on his braces and gotten in his car, and had driven to campus in time for his first class. But instead of parking, he'd simply driven around most of the day, sometimes pulling into a space and seriously thinking of going to history or philosophy or English, only to feel a muscle twinge and remind him of his hesitancy. Finally, after missing all of his first two classes and most of his third, he'd decided to sit on a bench and study for a while rather than show up disastrously late. The last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.

As Kai climbed into his car, he tried to convince himself it was pain and stiffness that had kept him from his classes all week, but he knew that wasn't really true. When it came down to it, despite his "new start" mantra, he didn't really care what anyone thought of him--except, bewilderingly, Renee. He turned the engine and shifted into reverse, then, with one hand on the wheel and the other on the controls, backed out of the spot. He should never have agreed to meet her. It wasn't like he even drank coffee.

He hadn't intended to tell her he'd missed her. It had slipped out. It was true, of course, but . . . it didn't make sense. He'd spent a total of nine hours with her, they hadn't spoken more than small talk, and yet . . . . Kai could see the coffee shop ahead. Maybe if he got there early, it'd be OK. His walk wasn't that bad. He sighed, drumming his fingers on the wheel as he waited for the light. Kai knew he had to decide what he would tell her if she asked about his legs. The truth? He focused on the red of the stoplight. The problem with the truth is it would most likely invite lots more questions, questions he didn't want to answer, not now, anyway.

More than anything, though, it bothered Kai how much this bothered him. Growing up in a small town, living a fairly sheltered life, he hadn't had too many occasions to meet new people to whom he had to explain himself, but he had never had a problem talking about his MLS before. It was what it was. As much a part of him as the color of his hair or eyes. He began to wonder if this whole "new start" mantra was just another persona, another attempt to become someone else to avoid who he really was.

Kai gritted his teeth as he pulled into the coffee shop. He'd tried being himself before, and what had that gotten him? The two handicapped spaces were both empty, so he parked in the first one and closed his eyes. He absently flicked the rubber band against his wrist as he thought. _Becca._ He remembered waking up for the first time after his transplant, his mind still foggy from the drugs, the respirator breathing for him, his chest a bizarre mixture of pain and numbness. _Snap. Snap._ Jon had found the best thoracic surgeon he could get on the short notice necessitated by the transplant, who'd used an experimental technique to try to graft the major nerves. It wasn't a guarantee, but the hope had been that Kai might have quasi-normal sensation in his new lungs, which would help him keep them clear. But it took months for the nerves to grow and heal, and for a while, Kai had needed to get used to the odd disembodied sensation that his lungs weren't a part of him. But of course, they weren't, were they?

 _Snap. Snap._ But that first moment of waking to his new life, when his eyes had finally found focus, it was Jon's face, and only Jon's face he'd seen. It wasn't until several weeks later, after he'd been extubated and his stoma was healing, that Becca had even deigned to visit him. And still, he hadn't hated her, not then. He'd simply been happy to see her, hoping that once he recovered a little more they could have a life together. _Snap. Snap. Snap._ But it had all been too much, or maybe he was somehow not enough, as she'd told him in slightly less concrete terms in the alley behind the diner, the day he'd met Nikki. He loved Becca and he hated her, but mostly he couldn't stand the way she pulled him in several directions at once, making him unsure of himself in a way he hadn't felt in a long time. _Snap. Snap. Snap. Snap._

Kai inspected his wrist, the flesh red, although he barely felt the sting; it was more of a dull buzzing sensation that faded almost instantly when he rubbed his thumb over the mark. Shutting off the engine, Kai decided he didn't want his FS or MLS to get in the way of his budding relationship with Renee, whatever it was. He didn't want to be too little or too much; with Renee, he didn't want to be anything other than "just right." Kai wasn't sure if that was even possible, but he was willing to try.

* * *

Kai concentrated on taking slow, short steps to make his walk look as natural as possible, pushing up with the toes of his right foot to help him swing his locked left leg forward. Walking this way was easier on his hip, and it was the subtlest way of moving--not quite natural, but not nearly as obvious as hip hiking or swinging his hip out. Although he was convinced everyone would be able to see through his jeans to his orthotics, no one even seemed to notice him. Kai wasn't used to _not_ being stared at, and it felt both relieving and disorienting.

Ignoring the counter, he headed toward the back, hoping to find a comfortable seat, preferably tucked into a corner somewhere. His body stiffened, and it wasn't due to his MLS, when he saw Renee, sitting curled up in one of the plush armchairs along the back wall, a stack of papers in her lap. She was beautiful, reading over the notes, her curly hair falling around her shoulders in tight black corkscrews. Kai remembered how small her hand had felt in his, and he realized his heart was quickening. He had to decide--now--what he would tell her if she asked about his legs. If he wasn't going to tell her the truth, he needed to know what he would say. He didn't want to lie, so making up a story was out of the picture. Best to keep his explanation vague and simple. Concealing or skirting the truth wasn't the same as lying, and the entire point of avoiding the truth was to avoid a litany of questions. _Deep breath_.

Forcing a smile, Kai approached, trying his best for casual and disaffected. Not quite the same mask he'd worn for most of the party last Friday, but enough to keep himself at a distance.

Making sure he was standing still to mask the orthotics as much as possible, he said, "Am I late?"

Renee startled, but when she looked up at him, she smiled, staring--no, not staring, appraising. "No," she said, with a slight shake of her head, and Kai loved the way it made her curls bounce. "I was able to copy the notes a lot faster than I thought, so here I am."

Kai shifted his weight to his locked left leg, and shoved his hands in his pockets to resist the urge to lean forward and smooth a curl between his fingers. For a moment, they just gazed at each other, and Kai couldn't help noticing Renee absentmindedly licking her lips. He didn't see a coffee mug or to-go cup anywhere, and was reminded that being crutch-free left his hands open.

"Can I get you something to drink?"

"Oh," she said, smiling and blushing just slightly.

She really was beautiful. Her face was almost heart-shaped, her chin pointed yet rounded so that it was soft, rather than harsh, and she had large, round hazel-green eyes perfectly framed by dark eyelashes. Kai squeezed his hands around his rescue inhaler in his pocket, feeling that tightness just below his sternum again. His breathing hitched, and he grew nervous, although he did his best not to let it show on his face.

She cleared her throat and shook her head, laughing a bit. "Sorry," she said, smiling. "You're . . . distracting."

Kai felt something in him shatter--it wasn't entirely an unpleasant feeling, and he was grateful for the locked brace to keep him upright. He loved Becca, and he loved the way Nikki made him feel, physically, but Renee . . . he knew now where the term spellbound came from. A relaxed, genuine smile tilted his cheeks.

"So are you," he said, feeling the tightness increase and forcing himself to keep his smile. "So what would you like?"

She tilted her head, pressed an extended index finger to one cheek in an exaggerated thinking motion. "No one here knows how to do a proper cafe au lait," she said with a pout. "A latte, I guess. Thanks."

Kai nodded. "OK, I'll be right back." He slipped his bag off his shoulder and dumped it on a chair, then hesitated for a moment, glancing first back toward the counter, then toward the restrooms, not far from where he stood.

The tightness hadn't subsided, so he carefully made his way toward the opposite corner, relieved that the bathrooms were the single-person style, slipping in and locking the door, quickly leaning against it as soon as he could.

Now that he was safely alone, he shut his eyes and listened to his body. It wasn't quite the same feeling he'd had pre-transplant, but it was wrong. His breathing came fast and quick. He wasn't wheezing, but definitely felt uncomfortable, and decided it wouldn't hurt to use his inhaler. He fished it out of his pocket, shaking it and uncapping it, hesitating. He closed his eyes, then forced himself to take a deep breath and let it out before placing the inhaler in his mouth and pressing the canister at the same time that he inhaled, pulling the medicine into his lungs. He held it there a moment, then repeated for a second puff, waiting to see if he could feel a difference. 

Kai knew the medicine didn't work instantaneously, but he didn't feel any better; if anything, he felt worse, the constricting feeling mounting, the hint of a wheeze carrying on every exhalation. It was his imagination. A trick of the nerves. This couldn't be an attack. He hadn't had one since before his transplant, and there hadn't been anything to trigger it that Kai could think of. It was just the anxiety playing tricks with his mind. Kai closed his eyes, staring into his lids, and focused on taking slow, deep breaths. Of course he knew stress could trigger an attack, too, but this wasn't an attack. It _couldn't_ be an attack.

* * *

Renee shifted in her seat, glancing over at the restroom. She'd noticed Kai had walked oddly; he hadn't walked like that before, had he? Then she realized: she'd never seen him walk before. Every time she'd gotten to class, he was already there, and he always made some excuse as to why he couldn't leave with her. She'd assumed it had something to do with the girlfriend she was sure he had, but . . . was there something wrong with his leg? Or his hip? Or maybe it was simply her imagination?

Whatever it was, it didn't detract at all from how incredibly handsome he was, and how charming. She sighed a little and rearranged the photocopied papers in her lap, double-checking that they were all there. A little flutter of hope bubbled up in her stomach. Maybe he was single. Maybe he liked her. Maybe they had a future.

* * *

Renee watched as Kai walked toward her, a coffee in one hand and a bottle of juice and a paper bag in the other. She pretended to read over the notes in her lap, watching him in her peripheral vision, noting how his shoulders rolled as he walked, one leg obviously compensating for the other. 

She allowed herself to finally look at him straight on when he spoke, handing her her coffee. "I didn't know if you liked sugar or not."

"This is fine, thanks," Renee said, smiling.

She saw how he bent awkwardly to set his drink and bag on the table between their two chairs, then shifted, gripping the sides of the seat and lowering himself into it carefully; she noticed his left leg stayed straight as he sat, and she couldn't help focusing on it, fascinated.

"I see you've noticed my bad leg."

Renee realized she'd been staring and flushed, gripping her coffee and looking sheepish. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean . . ."

He laughed, and although she kept her eyes down, she watched as his fingers moved to one side of his left knee, then slowly pushed his leg until it was bent like his right. "It's OK."

Renee forced herself to breathe. Curiosity overwhelmed her, but she bit it back; she had so much more she wanted to know about Kai other than his leg, and she worried if she pressed the issue he might lock up and she'd never learn more about him.

She sipped her coffee to buy her some time, noting how he reached forward for his juice, setting it between one leg and the arm of the chair, then pulled a pastry out of the bag.

"I didn't know what you'd like, so I got a variety," he said, pointing to the bag. He took a bite of his and then continued, chewing, as if he'd suddenly realized something in the act of eating and couldn't wait to swallow to say it. "Oh, you're not diabetic, are you?"

She laughed, a nervous giggle, and shook her head, leaning forward to glance in the bag. "No, but thank you for being considerate."

"My brother is. Diabetic. He's supposed to avoid sugar, and I can't get enough of it." He smiled and blushed slightly, and she got a feeling that the guard he normally kept up around him had fallen down a bit.

Renee pulled a cookie out of the bag and nibbled on it, ignoring the crumbs that fell onto the pages in her lap. "You said you have a brother; do you have any other siblings?"

She saw something change in Kai's face; it was subtle, a microexpression, before he smiled and opened his juice to drink. After he'd swallowed, he responded, "No. It's just me and my brother," in a tone she couldn't distinguish.

Nodding, Renee sipped her coffee, again to buy her some time. "I have two brothers. JP's five years older, and Luc's five years younger." She shook her head, transferred the cookie so it balanced on top of her coffee cup, and handed over the sheets of paper, shaking out the crumbs.

He took it from her, hardly needing to lean forward with his long arms, smiling faintly. "Thanks."

"That's everything," she said. "I hope it helps."

She watched as he dipped his head to flip through the notes, his golden hair hanging down in front of his face. "I appreciate this," he said, waving the papers and reaching for his bag to stuff them into it. "Look," he said, pausing in zipping his backpack up. "I don't want you to think I'm taking advantage of you, but there may be times in the future that I'll have to miss class. Do you think . . . ?"

Renee leaned forward, thinking she wouldn't mind Kai taking _advantage_ of her at all. "I'm happy to help. Really, any time," Renee said, blushing at how over-eager she sounded.

He laughed and leaned back in his chair, smiling, as if he'd read her thoughts.

Renee cleared her throat, shifted her cookie so she could find some solace in her coffee. "You a psych major?"

His eyebrows dipped, and he unscrewed the lid of his juice to drink, but said nothing.

"You mentioned Intro to Psychology was one of your classes, so . . ."

He licked some juice off his lips searchingly, and Re knew it wasn't intended to be erotic, but everything about him was so delicious. She was crazy; he just wanted someone to mooch notes from. That's all she was to him. She sighed softly, and tried to get back on task, thinking what she could say next, since it seemed like he wasn't planning on answering her. Maybe all he'd wanted was the notes, and now that he had them, he was thinking of a way to leave without seeming too rude.

"I'm undeclared, but leaning toward psych," he said with a shrug. "I think I'd like to work with kids someday, maybe."

That made her smile, picturing Kai, as tall as he is, sitting curled up on the floor surrounded by children, reading to them.

"You're not taking a foreign language?" Renee swirled the cup before taking another sip, already trying to think ahead to her next question, anything to keep him here and talking with her.

He shook his head. "Tested out," he said, then finished off his juice and tossed the bottle onto the table.

"Me too. _Francais. Et toi_?"

" _ASL_ ," Kai finger spelled.

"Sign language?"

Kai nodded with his fist and head. "Fluent."

"That's really cool," Renee said, then grimaced. "Sorry, that sounded really lame."

Kai used a hand to stretch out his left leg, then leaned back in his chair, almost as if he were ready to nap. He certainly looked tired enough. Defeated, almost. "So you're not from around here."

His question caught her off guard. "Oh, yes. I'm from New Orleans."

"Lived here all my life," he said, as if he'd anticipated a question, scratching under his nose with one long finger. "So what brought you to middle-of-nowhere Iowa?" he asked sardonically.

Renee laughed, but it was a nervous, forced laugh. "I needed to get away. A fresh start. You know?"

Kai inhaled sharply and nodded. "Do I."

* * *

Nikki leaned against the alley wall, one foot pressed against the brick, her knee bent. She sucked hard on her Nicotrol inhaler, trying to pretend it was a cigarette and not succeeding very successfully. She glanced at her watch, a cheap one with a plastic band she'd picked up at Walmart, and debated about whether or not she had time to run across the street for some real nicotine, when the kitchen door opened, attracting her attention. Marge squeezed out, looking a bit flustered. 

"I still have five minutes," Nikki said, taking a final inhale of the Nicotrol before shoving it in her apron pocket. 

"I know," Marge said. "But Blondie's here."

Nikki used her foot to push off from the wall, turning and folding her arms on her chest. "He has a name."

Marge got a doughy-eyed grin. "Doesn't mean he can't have a nickname." Her smile soon soured. "I took his order, but I think you should serve him. It's a three-for."

Nikki blinked and dropped her hands, joining in Marge's frown. "Did he say what's wrong?"

Marge shook her head, looking worried.

Nikki laid a hand on Marge's shoulder as she passed her to reenter the diner. "Thanks for getting me."

Nikki smiled at Clyde, the short-order cook, as she poured milk into a mug and threw it into the microwave. Then she crossed to the pies, covered and stacked on the counter, grabbing plates and knife. Kai had the biggest sweet tooth Nikki'd ever seen. His usual order, when he stopped by the diner, was a slice of pie and a mug of hot milk, to which he'd add half a shaker's worth of sugar. Whenever something was bothering him, Kai'd ask for two slices. So if he ordered three. . . . 

The microwave caught her off guard, and she jumped, grabbing the mug and setting it on a tray with the pie. Sucking in a breath, Nikki pushed back against the swinging door, tray in hand, and entered the dining room. It was a little early for the dinner crowd, so the diner was mostly empty. Kai sat perched on a bar stool, hunched over the counter, looking a bit like a disheartened yellow lab puppy.

Nikki set the mug and slices of pie on the counter, then tucked the tray under an arm to study him. He said nothing as he reached over to dump sugar into his milk, stirring it with his spoon as if he were on autopilot.

"All right," Nikki said, watching as he set his spoon aside and picked up a fork. "Why three slices?"

Kai gripped his fork backward, lazily, and stabbed at the first slice. Shrugging, he responded, "I like pie. I have a lot of years to make up for."

Nikki frowned, but Kai didn't see since he was bent over his pie, breaking it up with his fork, but not eating much. He'd only managed a few bites when she decided leaning over the counter wasn't getting her anywhere and turned to set her tray down. She glanced toward the opposite end of the counter and caught Marge's eye, gesturing with a flick of her hands to suggest moving around to join Kai. Marge nodded, and waved toward Nikki to tell her to go ahead, then went back to refilling coffees.

Nikki jogged around the counter and sunk down into the stool to Kai's right, laying a hand on his back and leaning in to whisper. "Becca call?"

Kai stopped stabbing his pie and hesitated before looking up at Nikki, his eyes a little wider, irises dark blue. He shook his head, then dropped it again to resume dissecting his nearly untouched food.

Nikki watched him push one smashed slice away and pull another closer, breaking off a portion with the side of his fork before hesitantly slipping it into his mouth, chewing slowly. She rubbed his back, realizing he wasn't offering any info freely.

"Tell me why it's a three-slice day," Nikki said softly.

At first, she didn't think he'd answer, since he hunched further, digging into his pie as if trying to excavate some buried treasure. Finally, he sighed, laid his fork down, and reached into his right pocket. Nikki watched, confused, as he laid his fist on the counter, releasing his fingers slowly and depositing something that clattered as it came to rest on the surface. His hand then returned to his fork.

Nikki stared at the inhaler, confused.

Without taking his eyes off the mash of fruit and crust he was focused on, he spoke. "I had to use it today."

Nikki shifted. "Oh. Are you OK?"

Most of what Nikki knew about Kai she'd learned from Becca, who, until things started to fall apart between them, had let everyone with an open ear know about Kai. Because Marge and Nikki were the only two staff (other than Clyde), who stayed around more than a few weeks, it meant the two waitresses were more exposed to her stories than anyone. At first, it seemed like the typical lovesick drivel that Nikki mostly ignored, reminding herself how she was glad she'd never had a relationship last long enough for her to moon over anyone.

But after a while, Nikki had begun to pick up a common theme--Kai was always sick, either because he'd had an attack, or he'd gotten pneumonia--and the way Becca related these travails. . . . Something just wasn't right. At the time, Nikki wasn't sure how accurate Becca's accounts were, since they seemed significantly exaggerated, Becca mopping up all the sympathy she could get, as if she were petitioning for sainthood for being with someone like Kai. It had made Nikki nauseated at the time, and later, once she'd started seeing Kai and realizing--deductively--how truly sick he must have been. . . . Becca had never been someone Nikki liked, and after getting to know Kai, to see what he'd gone through, knowing Becca had used him and then left him when he needed her most. . . . Nikki was glad Becca had disappeared, because Nikki didn't think she could stand working with that bitch again.

Nikki wasn't sure if Kai was aware of all that Becca had done, or if he knew how much, relatively, Nikki understood about his health. All she knew was that ignorance is bliss, and Kai had enough demons and worries without adding to it. Becca had hurt him deeply, and Nikki wasn't sure he needed to know exactly how much.

What Nikki did know based on what Kai had told her, was that he'd been sick most of his life, and that he'd had a lung transplant a year ago. That he was enjoying being attack-free, and as far as she knew, this was the first time he'd needed to use his inhaler since Before.

Kai didn't respond immediately, poking the fork repeatedly into the pie as if expecting it to come alive. "Yeah . . . I mean, I don't _feel_ the same way as I did before. . . . So I don't know." He sighed, scooped up some fruit and shoved it in his mouth mechanically, reaching for his mug and washing it down with lukewarm sugar-milk.

He continued, talking to his pie, talking to himself, it seemed. "Maybe it wasn't an attack. . . . I don't know." He stabbed the center of the slice, his hand fisted on the fork, his frustration palpable. "I don't know if I should see if it happens again, or tell Jon, or Dr. J . . ." Kai sighed heavily, discarding his fork to palm the inhaler. "What if . . . what if it's a sign of rejection?" Nikki watched him squeeze the inhaler tightly in his palm until his skin whitened. "What if . . . What if it means I'm not . . ." He drew in a hitching breath before finishing in a voice so low, Nikki nearly missed it. "Cured?"

Kai sighed, shoving the inhaler in his pocket and turning to the third piece of pie, spinning the plate around absently back and forth.

Nikki watched him for awhile. She'd seen him upset over Becca, but he usually kept his guard up; she'd never seen him look so utterly . . . defeated. Unsure what to do, she said nothing, smoothing her hand over his back, watching as he took small, deliberate bites of the third slice of pie. She couldn't stand to see him like this, so she pulled her keys out of her apron pocket, fished her house key off, and slid it along the counter toward him. He stared at it, then up at her, confused.

Nudging it toward his hand, she spoke low but firmly. "You're going to finish your pie, then you're going to take that, get in your car, and drive to my apartment. You're going to let yourself in, and you're going to strip, then you're going to lie on my bed and wait for me. And when I get off work, I'm going to come home and fuck you till you can't think anymore."

Kai looked up at her, his face long and eyes dark blue. "Nikki . . ."

She shook her head, picked up the key, and shoved it into his hand. "You'll do exactly as I say, or I'll tell Marge you're cut off. No more pie."

Kai's eyes widened and his mouth dropped open, his arms reflexively cradling his pie slice as if Nikki were ready to snatch it from him.

She had to stifle a laugh, leaning forward to kiss him on the tip of his nose. Hopping up, she smiled. "I have to get back to work, but my shift's almost done, so I'll be home soon." She winked and started to head toward a table where a family had just been seated for an early dinner.

"Thanks," Kai muttered with a shy smile.

 _What am I doing?_ Nikki thought, sighing and then plastering on a smile as she approached her new table. Every instinct told her giving him her key--even if it was temporary and in no way a sign that they were any more than fuck buddies--was the type of thing the old, pre-Kai Nikki would never have done. Her voice screamed in Nikki's head: _first you try to quit smoking for him, then you ask him to spend the night, now you're nearly asking him to move in with you?_ _Fuck_ , Nikki thought, her stomach churning, as she took the family's drink order, her eyes lingering on the two kids squirming as each parent tried to calm them. _This_ is what Kai wanted; he was the white-picket fence guy, and she just wasn't the "two-and-half" kids type. Reminding herself as she strode toward the soda fountain to get the beverages that she wasn't what Kai wanted or needed, not long-term. She never was and never would be, and it'd be best for everyone involved if she kept things simple, and stopped trying to be something she wasn't, something she never could be.

* * *

Kai dropped his bag in the back corner near Nikki’s bed, leaning his crutches against the wall. He’d decided to bring them, hoping he could maybe avoid putting his braces on again for a while. It felt strange, being in the quiet apartment without Nikki, the only sounds the shuffle of feet or movement of furniture from the surrounding apartments, and the subtle hum of the fridge in the kitchen a few feet away.

Kai took a deep breath, and stared at his wrist, the thick flesh-colored rubber band lying against his skin. He pulled at it with his opposite thumb and forefinger, as far as the resistance allowed, before letting it slam back. He barely felt the first sting, so he repeated it a dozen times until the redness remained, then cursed under his breath and pulled his shirt over his head in one fluid motion, tossing it aside. 

He unbuttoned his jeans, pushed them down toward his knees, and then allowed himself to fall back on the bed. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on each breath for a moment. In. Out. In. Out. Hoping to clear his mind. Lately, he felt like he was going crazy, and worse, he felt crazy for feeling that way. He’d defied all odds, he’d gotten the transplant, and here he was, a year later, with a fucking new lease on life. So why wasn’t he happy? 

Kai made sure his legs were unlocked and carefully slipped his feet out of his shoes, setting them aside. Next, he pulled off his jeans, and was about to toss them toward his shoes when he hesitated. Fishing his rescue inhaler out of his right front pocket, he laid it on the bedside table before tossing his jeans toward his bag. Maybe it was all in his head, but if it wasn’t, the last thing he needed to do was scare Nikki. He had barely talked with her about his FS, and he knew she wouldn’t know what to expect if . . . if he needed to use his inhaler again. Not that he even entirely knew what to expect anymore. _Fuck_. Wasn’t that part of the problem?

Sighing, Kai rubbed his thigh with the heal of his hand before slowly undoing the straps that bound his right leg into the KAFO. Once free, he carefully lifted out his leg, setting the brace against the bed, and peeling off the brace sock, eager to expose his skin to air. He rubbed the palms of his hands along his legs, from thigh to calf. These braces–leather for the thigh and modeled plastic for the calf–fit him better than any other pair he’d ever used, but in the heat of the late Iowa summer, he was still grateful to be done with them for the day, his skin damp and slightly irritated despite the sock.

Repeating the motions, he removed his left brace, then set both out of the way and slipped under the sheet. He tried to keep his eyes open, to wait for Nikki, one eye on the far side of the apartment, but soon exhaustion overcame him and he slipped into sleep.

* * *

In his dream, his mind returned to the weeks before his transplant, the respirator barely enough to keep his blood oxygenated. The pain–from the machine, from persistent oxygen-deprivation neuropathy–meant he was sedated most of the time, and when he wasn’t, his mind swam in a fog. Every time he woke, his mind grasping at a semblance of lucidity, he’d expected to be dead; half the time, before the haze of confusion cleared enough for him to _feel_ , he’d think he was. Fire and brimstone couldn’t be worse than that hell, of wishing for death, of praying that the worst news was coming. That he’d finally crossed the threshold he’d been teetering on for weeks, and someone–probably Dr. J–would be by to break the hard news that no transplant would come because he was simply too sick to undergo surgery.

In reality, he had woken, vision blurry, mind a blur, to a face–to this day, he wasn’t sure whose–Jon’s? Dr. Johnsen’s? Jo’s?–telling him they’d found a match and they were going to start prepping him for surgery. But this dream was different. The confusion was there, the vision that he couldn’t quite clear with blinking. Curly hair, hovering near his chin, a face he couldn’t quite distinguish.

Was his dream merging with wakefulness? Groggy, he felt the back of a small hand along his cheek, stroking the skin, soft curls grazing the stubble.

“ _Becca_ ,” he signed reflexively, the ASL “B” merging with the sign for “beautiful,” hand swept over his face, a smile tipping his cheeks.

He accepted the kiss, warm lips against his, uncertain if this were dream or life, realizing something was wrong. Taste. Smell. Becca never wore perfumes or any scent that would irritate his FS; before the respirator stole his sense of smell and taste, her skin and hair had always had a faint aroma of soap, mild shampoo, coffee, and her innate _Beccaness_ , a sweetness all her own that he’d clung to. Right now, his senses were assaulted with fruit, overpowering and tangy like a tropical drink. 

Confused, Kai blinked several times more, finally seeming to wake fully from his dream. The face that hovered near his, surrounded by medium brown curls, was Nikki’s. Nikki, wearing a wig.

Kai’s face drew into a deep scowl, and he pushed himself up quickly, causing her to fall back in surprise. “What the fuck,” he growled; it was a statement, not a question, still it demanded an answer.

Nikki frowned, but it was a shallow expression, her face impassive as she shrugged, pulling the wig off and tossing her hair; loose strands stuck up and clung together from the static of the wig.

“I thought you’d like it.”

I shook his head, realizing he was breathing hard. “I come to you exactly because you’re _not_ her.”

“OK,” Nikki said slowly, twirling the crown of the wig around her finger as if it were a hoop and she were a circus performer. “Then what about the girl from the party the other night? What was that all about?”

Kai’s bites had finally healed enough they lay exposed on each shoulder, although the marks were still there. Neither of them had spoken of the events of the previous Friday, either the party itself or anything after, and Kai had hoped to keep it that way.

After taking a few steady, deep breaths, Kai responded, “That’s exactly why it was a mistake.”

Nikki tossed the wig in the air and caught it, staring at it for a moment in her hands before throwing it toward the kitchen. “All right. Bad idea. Sorry.”

She reached for him, but he held up one hand to stop her, a slight shake of his head.

They sat in silence for a moment, listening to the sounds of each others’ breathing. Nikki waited for Kai to look at her, then mimicked Becca’s name sign. “You did this in your sleep. Does that mean Becca?”

Kai hesitated for a moment, finally nodding. He rubbed the back of his neck, staring at the rubber band on his wrist. “Sign language still feels more natural to me, especially when I’m half awake,” he said with a mirthless laugh. Kai had first started speech therapy the summer between eighth and ninth grade–eight years ago–but he still considered spoken English very much a second language.

Nikki risked smoothing a hand along his arm, fingers trailing onto his chest. “I think you’re sexy when you sign. Especially your facial expressions.”

Kai managed a laugh; not quite his full, relaxed chuckle, but his anger was fading. “You haven’t even seen me sign much.”

“Maybe,” Nikki said, lifting her hand to his cheek, cradling it. “But I’ve had a lot of time to study your face.”

Kai studied her eyes for a moment, enjoying the feel of her skin against his, forgetting about his dream, the wig, everything for this brief moment of connection between them. 

“Facial expressions in ASL are like tone in spoken language; they help convey meaning to your signs. Like in spoken English, you inflect your voice to indicate a question. Most people never think about it. In ASL, an arch of your eyebrow indicates you’re asking something.”

Nikki laughed as he raised his brows, leaning forward to plant a simple kiss on his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind, professor.”

He frowned, then shrugged. “Five years of speech therapy, plus more than double that of Deaf education. It’s hard for me not to think like that sometimes.” He picked at the rubber band but didn’t snap it. “It’s like moving to a foreign country where you know the language, you’re fluent, and it’s comfortable, but it’ll never be as familiar as the language you grew up with.”

Nikki folded her legs and smiled at him, leaning forward to place a playful peck on the tip of his long nose. “Sign something for me. Anything.”

“Nikki . . .”

“Please?”

She watched as his hands moved quickly in the air in front of him, his face a mixture of annoyance and amusement; she loved how he could master keeping his face a blank mask and yet also combine emotions so well on it.

“So what does that mean?”

“It means you’re a pain in the ass,” he said, repeating the signs.

“Do you have a sign for me, like with Becca? That means my name?”

“A name sign? Yeah.” Kai demonstrated, sweeping his fingers over his forehead, bringing them into a fist, thumb between his fingers, two on each side of it, combing the sign for “forget” with the letter “N.”

“Does it mean anything? I mean, other than ‘Nikki’?”

Kai sighed. “Yeah. ‘Forget,’ because that’s what you help me do.”

“What?” She took his fingers in her hands, smoothing over the rounded fingertips.

“Everything. Before.” Kai lay back, staring up at the ceiling, flicking the rubber band gently against his wrist. “That I’m not normal and never will be. That I’m probably deluding myself in thinking I can ever even have a ‘normal’ life. . . . That I can ever even _have_ a life,” Kai said, his voice trailing off to a whisper.

Nikki edged closer to him, leaning over to take his head in her hands, kissing him softly. “Then let me help. Let me do my job. Let me make you forget, if only for a night.”


	6. September 2, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai is stressing about school and runs into Renee at her new job; he snags her telephone number, then meets an old friend, Jake, at the diner. Before Kai can meet up with Renee again, he gets a very unexpected telephone call. Kai decides he wants to give a relationship with Renee a try and agrees to meet Becca. He also visits Nikki to break things off, but something unexpected happens. . . .

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Valentine's Day!
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters in the season.
> 
> <3 to everyone who is actually reading

Jon smoothed a hand over his hair as he passed the kitchen table to grab his briefcase. Kai sat in his wheelchair, hunched over a bowl of cereal, a textbook open beside him. He’d gotten in late from Nikki’s the night before, electing, at the last minute, not to spend the night, and the combination of a restless mind and body had meant he hadn’t gotten much sleep.

“So I have patients all morning, but my last one is at 11:30, so I should be free by one.” Jon peered into his briefcase before slinging it over his shoulder. “I thought maybe we could have lunch. Do something together? Whatever you want.”

Kai set his spoon in his bowl and leaned back to better see his brother, unable to hide the surprise in his face. “Sure. But I’m going to stick to the chair today, I think, so . . .” Kai shrugged and returned to his cereal.

Jon frowned.

“I’m fine.”

Jon looked at Kai, one eyebrow raised, but said nothing, waiting for his brother to look up, as if the tension in the air would be enough to signal him.

Kai sighed heavily, tossed his head, before meeting his brother’s eyes. “Really. I’m just tired, and I don’t want to have to miss any more class by pushing myself too hard.”

Jon studied his brother for a moment, even though Kai had dropped his head again, pushing his cereal out of the way and pulling his textbook closer, seemingly engrossed in reading what was apparently a psychology text. Realizing Kai was in full-on ignore mode, Jon sunk into the chair diagonally opposite with a sigh.

“Maybe twelve hours is too much.”

Kai gripped the top far corner of the open book in his hand, fingers curling around the pages, squeezing and releasing in a repetitive, anxious motion. “That’s the minimum for matriculation.”

“Then maybe you don’t need to be a full-time student. Maybe you should have taken just a couple classes your first semester. You know, eased yourself into it.”

Kai let out a harsh breath and released the pages; they made a loud _fwap_ as they fell back into place. “Jon. I’m _fine_ ,” Kai said, signing the word for emphasis, a thumb on his chest, fingers splayed, jerking his hand down stiffly. “All right? I’ll see you later for lunch.”

Jon’s lips squeezed tightly together, resisting a frown. “All right. Well.” He pushed himself up, readjusted his briefcase. “It’s still not too late to drop a class or two. I’ll see you later. Cattle Baron, one o'clock.” Jon patted Kai’s shoulder briefly before turning to the door.

As soon as Kai heard the front door click shut, he dropped his head on the book with a small thud. Jon had a legitimate point. Four classes hadn’t seemed like much when he’d registered, but now that he actually had twelve hours of lecture a week and at least that much reading, things seemed different. He couldn’t focus or remember nearly as well as he could in high school, but he figured small cognitive deficits were a fairly small price to pay considering that he’d nearly died of lung failure only a little over a year ago.

Maybe trying college again was just another way he was fooling himself. With a grunt, he pushed himself up and shut the book. He needed to clear his head. He’d hit the pool, get a good workout early before any of the swimming classes started, then maybe drop by Lost Apple Books and try to study for a while. A change of scenery might do him good, and it’d force him to catch up on the work he missed last week.

* * *

The parking lot for Lost Apple Books was nearly empty when Kai pulled in after his workout. The store didn’t open for another thirty minutes, but Kai knew the owner, Arthur Meyers, was likely already puttering about, dusting the shelves and making sure everything was ready for the Saturday crowd. He lived above the store, which he’d owned since before Kai was born, and had somehow managed to survive the big retail chains and the burgeoning internet market. He and his store were a town institution, partially because he was impossible to dislike. He volunteered in the community, wasn’t afraid to lend someone a book they couldn’t afford, or do any number of small things that made Lost Apple more than just a book store.

Best of all, it was extremely accessible; Art had made sure of that, carefully arranging the shelves and furniture, always asking someone to help make sure he hadn’t made any oversights. He wanted everyone to feel welcome at Lost Apple, and so far, he’d succeeded well.

Kai had only just pulled into the lot when a blur of dark curly hair jogged in front of him, forcing him to hit the brakes. For a moment, their eyes met: Renee. _Fuck_ . Because Iowa required two license plates, if Renee noticed, saw the wheelchair logo, saw the hand controls, she’d know his “bad leg” was more than just an old football injury. _Fuck. Fuck._ She moved out of his way, and for a moment, he thought he’d be able to gun it, but he was in such a state of shocked panic, before he could react, he heard a rap on his window. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._

He glanced over, doing his best to smile, and saw Renee, beaming, waving. The girl definitely had enthusiasm, Kai would give her that. Sucking in a breath but keeping his smile up, Kai rolled down the window.

“Hey!” Renee said with a grin. “What are you doing here?”

“I could ask you the same thing.”

Renee tilted her head to one side and laughed, a low, delicate chuckle. “I work here Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday. Today’s my first day.”

Kai rubbed his eyes and then his face. “Oh. Well, you’ll like working here.”

“Yeah, I hung out here a bit last year. I’m just glad he needed some help. I could definitely use the money.” Renee blushed.

“Art’s a good man. When I was a kid, he used to . . .” Kai stopped himself, realizing how Renee made him drop his guard, nearly relating a story about his childhood he wasn’t ready to divulge. The less Renee knew about his past, the better. “. . . let me borrow books,” Kai finished vaguely.

Art was very active in the community, and each year would do a book drive for County House, bringing the donated books to the group home so the kids would have something to read. Even though Kai didn’t speak then, and Art didn’t know more than the alphabet and a few signs, they’d formed a bond over books. Reading was one of the few things Kai could do when he was sick, and so Art would occasionally bring a book just for Kai to read, acting almost like a library for him. Kai would read the book, then exchange it with Art for another the next time they saw each other. Art even visited Kai in the hospital occasionally, and they’d talk books (with Kai writing out his part of the conversation), or sometimes, Art would just read to him. Art was one of the few people who’d really shown him kindness, and he’d never forgotten that. In fact, he still had his worn copy of _Hamlet_ that Art had given him, and which he’d read so many times he’d memorized it. In high school, Kai had read parts of it out loud to himself in the privacy of his room to help him build his confidence with spoken English.

> _To sleep, perchance to Dream; Aye, there's the rub,_
> 
> _For in that sleep of death, what dreams may come,_
> 
> _When we have shuffled off this mortal coil,_
> 
> . . . _makes us rather bear those ills we have,_
> 
> _Than fly to others that we know not of._

Sensing Kai’s distraction, Renee cleared her throat, then gestured toward the building with her thumb. “We don’t open for another thirty minutes, but I doubt Art would mind if you came in with me. When there’s a lull, I’m sure he would let us study together.”

Kai stared at her for a moment, his heart pounding furiously against his chest, cursing himself that he didn’t wear his orthotics. _This is what I get for being lazy._ Looking past her to the store, he said, “Actually, I just realized I have some errands to run first. But I had a really nice time yesterday. Rain check?”

It occurred to Kai that Renee might ask Art about him; if so, there wasn’t much Kai could do about it. He’d just have to cross that bridge when he came to it, and prepare himself for Renee treating him differently once she knew about his past and his health. Maybe she'd be OK with it; after all, she hadn't said anything about his leg or walk yesterday. Her disinterest didn't seem feigned or forced; instead, she'd made small talk, flirted, as if his leg didn't matter. Would she maintain her interest if she knew the truth? Kai didn’t realize he was biting his lip until he tasted the metallic tang of blood on his tongue.

“Sure,” Renee said with a grin. “Actually . . .” she reached into her bag and grabbed a pen, then leaned into the car and pulled out his arm. With a seductive smile, she wrote on his forearm. 

Kai tried to see what she was writing, but wasn’t able to, partially because he was distracted by the strangely sensual sensation of her pen imprinting on his skin and her soft, smooth fingertips as they braced his arm.

“My number. Call me some time. If you can’t make class, or you want to study, or . . . you want to do something else,” she said with a smile, her cheeks flushed.

Kai glanced at the numbers, mostly as an excuse to hide his eyes from her, as the thought flashed in his head. What if he pulled into one of the handicapped spots and whipped out his chair, put everything on the table? No more pretense. It would be a relief. And he’d save himself from getting . . . attached. One way or another, the chair, braces, crutches weren’t going anywhere; maybe it’d be better to know if it was something she could deal with rather than leading both of them along?

The feel of her fingertips on the inside of his wrist, just below the rubber band, sent a frisson up his spine, drawing his attention away from his thoughts, strengthening his resolve. Bridges crossed when gotten to, he thought, smiling. 

“I’d better get going. I’ll see you Wednesday, if not before.” Her grin was sweet and simple, and Kai watched as her curls bobbed behind her when she skipped away toward the building.

He exhaled a long breath. She'd given him her number. Gimpy leg and everything. He couldn't help smiling as he turned his car around, feeling excited and a little giddy.

* * *

A few minutes later, Kai found himself parked at a table in the diner, absently flicking the rubber band against his wrist, unable to stop thinking about Renee. 

A ruddy, slightly wrinkled hand set a mug of hot milk on the table in front of him. “Nikki’s off today,” Marge said, causing Kai to look up and manage a faint smile. She was staring at the wheelchair, frowning; Kai realized he’d never come into the diner when he wasn’t walking.

“I know,” Kai said, giving the band an extra forceful flick.

“Pies are in the oven, since it’s so early.”

Kai laughed, cradled the back of his neck with one hand. “That’s OK. How ‘bout a waffle.”

Marge grinned. “Let me guess: with strawberries and whipped cream.”

Kai nodded, returning the smile, feeling himself relax a bit. “That sounds great.” Then he quickly added sugar to his milk and stirred, lifting the mug to his lips and taking a tentative sip. Too hot. Marge always heated it too much.

Marge tapped her pen on her ordering pad and winked. “Waffle shouldn’t take long. You let me know if you need anything else.”

Kai nodded and laid his forearm on the table, staring at Renee’s handwriting, elegant, angular, and neat against his fair skin. He was so lost in his thoughts he didn’t hear someone collapse into the chair opposite him until an extremely deep male voice spoke.

“I know you’ve got some brain damage, but don’t tell me you’ve forgotten what your arm looks like.”

Kai snapped his head up to see a face he hadn’t seen in a while: Jake Wahltukh, Kai’s only real hearing friend. Jake was a large man, with bronze skin and long, mahogany hair plaited into two braids that draped over his shoulders toward his waist. As far as Kai knew, Jake hadn't cut his hair for more than a trim since his father had died when he was a kid.

Jake and Kai had met on the first day of high school. Kai had been exhausted and a little terrified as he’d made his way to the state-required fifth period PE class, a class the district would never let him participate in. It was also Kai’s first time at a hearing school since the state had forced him to “try it” after his parents had died, convinced allowing him to continue to attend the deaf school was only encouraging his “stubbornness” in refusing to speak.

Kai had only had speech therapy for a few months, and his MLS immediately made him stand out even without the language barrier. But Jake had seen beyond both these things; a target for teasing and racist jokes his whole life, Jake had learned early to walk his own path and not give the other kids the satisfaction of letting their jibes bite him. Over the four years of high school, he’d done his best to learn ASL, and had even helped Kai practice his speech to build his confidence. Then, in college, Jake had continued to pursue sign language, eventually qualifying for his interpreter’s license.

“Jake. Wow. It’s been awhile.”

Jake beamed. He had a long face and wide cheekbones. His dark brown, nearly black eyes could easily have been menacing, yet they were soft and kind. “ _You look a hell of a lot better than the last time I saw you,_ ” Jake said, shifting to ASL.

“ _Yeah, well . . ._ ” Kai signed with a wave of his hand.

Jake sipped his coffee, which he'd apparently brought over with him, and eyed Kai, his face warm. One-handed, he signed, “ _I guess you’re doing OK now?_ ”

Kai shrugged.

Jake frowned and set his coffee aside, freeing up his other hand. “ _I see you haven’t changed. Come on. No BS._ ”

Kai patted his pushrims with each palm, buying himself some time. “ _I don’t know what way’s up anymore. And my legs have been more stubborn than a drunk Indian_ ,” Kai signed, poking fun at Jake’s Dakota-Sioux heritage.

Jake laughed. “ _At least I’m not a skinny, racist white boy_.”

"Hey, not so skinny anymore," Kai said with a grin, extending a hand, which Jake met in a tight shake, fists clasped together. “It's been a long time."

“I know you can’t live without me.” Jake cringed, his face suddenly growing serious. “ _Sorry. Listen . . ._ ”

Kai held up his hand to signal it was OK, shifting to the ASL sign for “fine,” turning his hand ninety degrees and tilting it toward Jake.

Jake nodded, although he still looked apologetic.

Jake had gone out of state for college, but he’d made a point of visiting Kai whenever he was in town, especially the last year before Kai’s transplant. Despite the fact that Jake had been one of Kai’s only true friends, Jake still felt guilty that he hadn’t been able to be more there for Kai when things were really bad.

“ _Really. I don’t hold it against you because you decided to study abroad or do that summer internship with Doctors Without Borders_ .” Kai's eyes were wide, his brows arched, head cocked, as if to say, _Come on_.

Jake sighed, picked up one braid and threaded his fingers through the end of it before letting it fall back against his chest. Jake hadn’t seen Kai since Christmas break, a few months post-transplant, when Kai was still recovering, over eight months ago.

“ _Speaking of_ . . . . _Started med school. Loyola Chicago._ ”

Kai watched Jake’s finger spelling, impressed with how rapidly his fingers moved now, a far cry from his awkward signing of high school. But the school name caused Kai’s brows to arch reflexively, thinking of Jenny. And Jon. He shoved the thoughts from his mind.

“ _Already had our first exam, if you can believe it. I’m just here for the weekend to visit my mom._ ”

“ _Cool."_ Kai sipped his milk again; it had cooled enough to be palatable. " _You’ll be a great doctor someday. I know it_.”

“ _What?_ " Jake's eyebrows jumped up, a grin curling across his face. " _No ‘Medicine Man’ joke? You’re slipping._ ”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Kai said, laughing, smiling as Marge delivered their food; the Lumberjack breakfast for Jake (which Kai assumed Jake must have ordered before joining him), and Kai’s waffle.

With an added grin and wink toward Kai, she set a plate of bacon on the table. “On the house, hon. Can I get you guys anything else?”

Kai glanced at Jake, who shook his head. “We’re good. Thanks, Marge.”

“ _She thinks you’re cute_ ,” Jake teased, dumping half a bottle’s worth of ketchup on his plate.

Kai bit his lip and said nothing, offering Jake his bacon.

Jake eyed it hungrily, despite the fact that he had enough food in front of him to feed a small country–eggs, potatoes, bacon, sausage, ham, pancakes, toast. “You’re giving me your bacon?”

Kai shrugged. “ _I’m a vegetarian now_.”

Jake stopped with one slice of bacon halfway to his mouth, eyebrow raised.

Kai sighed, dumping syrup onto his waffle. “ _Supposed to help with my MLS_ ,” he signed one-handedly.

“And that’s really working out for you I see,” Jake said teasingly, gesturing toward Kai’s chair with the bacon.

Kai replaced the syrup on the table to free his hand. “ _Fuck you_ ,” he signed again, but he was smiling. “ _I’ve missed this_.”

Jake nodded, scooping up some food onto a fork. “I’m really glad to see you looking so good.”

“ _It’s good to be feeling good_ ,” Kai signed as he chewed some waffle. “ _And your ASL is even better than the last time we talked_.”

Jake shrugged and set down his fork. “ _It helps when I cruise by the deaf school to pick up all the hot Deafie girls._ ”

Kai nearly choked on his food with laughter. “ _I’ll bet_.”

Jake sighed, shoveled food into his mouth. “ _Instead of my ASL interpreter’s license, I should have focused on Spanish. Turns out that’s a lot more useful for medicine._ ”

For a moment, Kai stared at his food, drumming his fingers on the table. Taking in a breath, he raised his hands to add, “ _I wish more nurses and doctors knew it._ ”

An awkward pause descended on the table as they ate, forks scraping against plates. A young waitress Kai didn't recognize stopped by to refill Jake's coffee.

"You think you'll come back here? Once you finish school?"

Jake washed down a mouthful of food with some coffee before responding. "I don't know. If I did, it'd be after residency. I kinda like the anonymity of the big city, you know? Everyone knows me here, but in Chicago or St. Louis or wherever, I'm just another guy."

Kai nodded and slipped a gooey forkful into his mouth.

"What about you? You ever think of leaving this place?"

Kai shrugged, dragged the tines of his fork through the syrup, creating a ragged trail that rapidly resealed itself. " _Right now, it's one day at a time._ "

Jake pointed to Kai's arm. "So what's with the arm? Planning your tattoo?"

Kai glanced down at the numbers again, smoothing over his skin with his other hand. "Her name's Renee," Kai said, unable to hide a blush.

Jake shook his head. " _I guess blonds really do have all the fun._ "

Kai rolled his eyes and sipped his milk.

Leaning forward, Jake studied Kai for a moment, as if trying to read between the lines; as good as Kai was at concealing himself, Jake had been too close a friend for much to escape his scrutiny.

" _She's cool with the wheels, etc.?_ "

Kai suddenly seemed very intent on dissecting the remains of his waffle.

"She doesn't know," Jake said after a long pause, voice flat.

Kai tapped his fingers a few times on the table before sighing and looking up. " _Most days my walk is good. No crutches or anything. She knows I have a 'bad leg,' but no, I haven't sat her down to tell her my life sob story_ ," Kai signed bitterly, his face looking like he'd sucked hard on a lemon.

"And you don't think she has a right to know?" Jake accused, jabbing his fork toward Kai before spearing eggs and shoving them in his mouth.

"Jesus, Jake." Kai pushed his plate as far away from him as he could, a fermenting pit forming in his stomach. "I've known her two weeks. _Excuse me if I want her to get to know me before springing_ General Hospital _on her._ "

Jake barely contained a chortle. "Not touching that. Too easy."

Kai shrugged. " _In the hospital, it was soaps or the shopping channel._ " He sighed. " _I like her, and she likes me. I don't want to fuck this up._ "

Jake shoveled some food into his mouth, then dropped his fork to free up his hands so he could sign while he chewed. " _I'm no expert on women, but last time I checked, lying is a pretty good way to fuck things up._ "

Kai snapped the rubber band against his wrist a few times. "I'm not lying. . . . I'm just . . . not . . . telling her everything. . . . Yet."

"Lies of omission are still lies. I'm not saying you need to give her _Kai Taylor Fox: The Unabridged Story_ , but . . ."

"She's bound to find out sooner or later, or at least start to put the pieces together. I don't know. I guess I just wanted to try to have one relationship where it was just about me and her without any . . . complications. You know? _Am I crazy?_ "

"Well, I hope it works out. It's about time you got over she-who-shall-not-be-named." Jake stared hard at Kai. "But life's about complications. You can't hide from that."

* * *

Renee watched Art demonstrate how to make coffee in the large restaurant-style machines he kept tucked into a back nook of the store. 

"People are always telling me I should charge for the stuff, or eliminate it completely. 'Don't want people parking and mooching,' they tell me." Art shrugged, pressing a couple buttons to start the brewing. "But I've always been a stubborn fool."

He grinned and turned to Renee. Art was about a foot taller than her, likely a meaty man in his youth, although his paunchy belly dominated his figure now. His skin was dry and ruddy, his eyebrows a bushy weave of black and white wiry hair, and the dome of his skull was dusted with only the faintest wisps, revealing his spotted skin below. His face was round and friendly, with ice-blue eyes that sparkled as if lit from some inner light. He seemed the archetypal grandfather figure.

"I'm sure your customers appreciate the free coffee, Mr. Meyers," Renee said quietly.

Art laughed. "As I said in the interview: Art, please. And I know they do. Part of what sets Lost Apple apart." He cleared his throat. "Just make sure to refresh the coffee throughout the day, and that we have cups and sugar and all that. Pretty easy." He took off toward the storeroom, his long strides forcing Renee to jog to catch up. "Have some copies just in of a book from a local author. He should be in next week for a signing, but want to get some out on the front table for display."

He almost seemed to be talking to himself, muttering as he peeked through half-opened cardboard boxes along the floor. 

"Ah, here we go," he said. He glanced over at her. "You think you can carry this?" He heaved up a smaller box packed with paperbacks.

"Of course," she said, although she wasn't certain. She didn't want Art to regret hiring her petite self.

"Great," Art said, settling the box in her arms and grabbing another.

The box was heavy, but small, and so Renee did her best to carry it effortlessly toward the front display. She could hear Art lumbering behind her as they walked through the wide main aisle.

This half of the store was roughly rectangular, with bookshelves built into the walls and stacked at intervals in neat rows on each side of the aisle. The far back corner held the coffee bar and a few chairs, with the office, storeroom, and private door leading to the steps for Art's apartment on the opposite side. Toward the middle, a second, perpendicular aisle sloped down toward the second half of the store, a later addition to the building. This open space featured tables, chairs, and an assortment of small couches, and was where Art allowed local groups, like book clubs and writing circles, to meet.

The front of this portion of the store was more open, the register on one side and tables for featured books greeting customers as they entered through double glass doors etched with the store logo, bookended by large picture windows.

The early morning sun spilled in, casting pale yellow squares of light onto one of the tables, where a sign advertised the book and the upcoming signing. Renee set the box on it, waiting for Art's instructions. Without a word, he began unpacking and stacking copies, so Renee followed suit.

"Mr. Meyers--" She quickly corrected herself in response to his cleared throat and raised brow. "Art. Do you know Kai Fox?"

Art paused and looked at her. "You mean Kai Taylor?"

Renee tilted her head, confused by the different last name, but found it unlikely they were two Kais in this town. "He said his name was Fox."

Art stacked a few more books, seeming to consider this for a moment before nodding. "Probably did. Hasn't gone by Taylor in a few years." Without waiting for another word from Renee, Art continued, "So, yes, I know him. Known him all his life. His parents, too. Shame about them," Art muttered, seemingly to himself.

That piqued Renee's interest. She recalled Kai saying it was only him and his brother. But why change his last name?

"Anyway, he's a great kid." Art evened out a stack of books, guiding them between two hands. "Why you want to know?"

Renee dipped her head, trying to hide her blush.

Art laughed, rich and deep. "So he's caught your eye, has he?"

Renee forced herself to look up, even though she knew her cheeks were still hot. "That obvious, huh?"

Art met her eyes, his face serious, gesturing with one of the books. "You be careful with him. You hear? He's been though a lot."

Renee's eyebrows dipped. "What do you mean?"

Art frowned and reached down to collapse the now empty box. "Not really my business to tell. You'll have to ask him."

Before Renee could think of what else to say, Art had stalked off toward the storage room, leaving Renee to finish stacking the rest of the novels alone.

* * *

Kai sat in his car outside the diner. He and Jake had exchanged current numbers, and Kai had entered Renee's into his address book on his phone, which he held in his hand, trying to decide what to do. He still had a few hours until his lunch with Jon, and knew he needed to study, but Lost Apple was off the books unless he was willing to go home for his braces. He could hit the library, or find a bench in one of the quads, or even try one of the study rooms in the student center. No. It had to be library or home, so he could focus.

Kai let his head fall back against the headrest, sighing, thinking back to the conversation he'd had that morning with his brother. Maybe Jon was right, and he should drop a class or two. But which ones? If he dropped Intro to Psych, he'd be screwing himself for his major. And if he dropped his core classes, it would mean seeing Renee a lot less. As fucked up as everything was right now, Kai realized seeing less of her wasn't an option. No. He'd stick with it. He didn't need A's; he was content to pass, to survive the semester. If he needed a tutor, or to suck it up and drop by disability services to get tested, then he would. Thinking of Renee made a warm feeling bubble up in his stomach, and he flipped open his phone. She was at work, he knew, but he could leave her a message. Maybe she'd want to get together Monday to go over a few things? Maybe she'd have some tips for helping him remember all those dates in history? Or . . . he could go home, put on his braces, and hang out at Lost Apple Books as he'd originally planned. Even if Renee was too busy to study with him, just being in the same space as her, their gazes meeting whenever she passed. . . . He smiled. It might not be the most conducive studying environment, but. . . .

Before he could set his phone down to back out of the parking space, it began to ring in his hand. He didn't recognize the number, but answered anyway, putting it to his ear.

"Kai?" A female voice, achingly familiar.

"Becca." Kai felt as if his stomach had fallen through him into the center of the earth, a wave of nausea so intense it took his breath away. He knew he should hang up, tell her to go fuck herself--that's what Nikki would do. But he was frozen, barely able to breathe.

Silence so long, she repeated his name.

"I'm . . . here," Kai said, surprised he could find his voice.

"How . . . how are you?"

Kai swallowed hard, but said nothing.

Becca's sigh came out harshly over the phone. "I'll be in town at the end of the week. Meet me?"

Kai's surprise morphed to anger, and he replied, his voice bitter, "And what would you say if I told you I was too sick to meet you?"

The only sound from Becca's end was the rasp of her breath.

"Yeah, that's what I thought," he snarled, snapping the phone shut with a loud clap. He threw the phone toward the passenger's seat, then slammed his hands on the steering wheel, clenching his teeth and eyes, biting down hard on his lip.

Fuck her, and fuck studying, Kai thought, peeling out of the parking lot.

* * *

The pool at the Y was pretty much off limits on Saturdays after nine because of swim lessons, and though the weight room was tempting, the allure of losing himself for forty laps drew him to the university's fitness complex instead. The muffling silence of water, allowing his mind to blank as he crawled toward one wall, then the next, over and over until his chest and arms and hips ached.

Kai hadn't yet visited the school gym or pool, partially out of habit, but the contrast in facilities between the Y and the university were immediately stark and apparent. The center hummed with activity, but he wouldn't have to worry about six-year-olds hogging the pool here. He might have to consider changing his routine.

The girl at the check-in counter had asked if he needed help.

“You know, like, with the doors or getting in the pool and stuff.” She’d looked at him, annoyed, as if praying he’d say no so she wouldn’t be inconvenienced.

He'd told her no, and quickly made his way to the pool locker room, grateful he kept a spare suit and lock in his car. He did need help, but more like a shrink than someone to open a door for him. Anger still burned under the surface of his skin. Why did Becca still affect him so strongly?

Because just when he thought things were getting better, she'd reassert herself on his life. She’d done it before, and she was doing it again. He sighed heavily, pushing past other guys, oblivious to the looks and stares until he found an empty aisle. He heaved his bag off his lap and tossed it on the bench, fishing through it, pulling out his suit. Becca continued to hurt him because he let her. As long as he allowed her to, she had power over him. It'd be best if he severed himself from her. Ignored her calls, pushed her from his mind. He had an opportunity with Renee now, and as terrifying as the prospect of another relationship was, he knew he wanted to give her a chance. 

Kai examined the suit. It was his old one, and had seen better days, but it’d do in a pinch. A competition suit, more specialized than simple trunks, it covered him from knee to neck, leaving his arms free. Difficult to put on, even with the zippered back, but it hid his scars. Hiding. Was that all he did anymore? At school, with Renee, even with Nikki and Jon. In fact, he realized, his time with Nikki was as much about forgetting as it was _hiding_. He bent, pulled off one shoe, then another, tossing them in the locker. Hesitating for a moment, he gripped the fabric of his shirt, yanking it over his head, setting it on the hook. He fingered his trache scar. Maybe he wasn't ready to tell Renee everything, but he was ready to be done with Becca. If she didn't call back, he would. He'd agree to meet her, and he'd tell her they were finished, and she could leave him to get on with his life.

* * *

Jon shifted his weight in the chair, glanced at his watch for the ten-hundredth time, smiling weakly at the waiter who refilled his water. It was almost two-thirty; Kai was late. Jon had been forced to eat, his blood sugar too low to wait for his brother, but he'd already tried Kai's cell and checked the apartment, all with no luck. So he'd decided to come back to the restaurant, wait another hour before he called the hospital. Maybe Kai was studying in the library, phone off, and had lost track of time? Worry pulsed in Jon's gut as he clenched his water glass and drank.

Jon turned his gaze to the wide arched entrance to the dining room, a rush of relief flooding through his body when he saw Kai finally appear, pushing his way toward the table. But something was wrong. Kai didn't guide his chair with his usual force or grace; every stroke seemed to take immense effort. He looked pained and tired, which surprised Jon even more, since Kai normally hid his emotions, at least initially. Kai's hair was damp, making the golden almost brown, long strands clinging together.

Kai seemed to notice Jon for the first time as he drew near, offering a faint apologetic smile. A few more strokes, and he parked at the table across from his brother.

Jon opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Kai did. "I'm fine, just tired. I'm sorry I'm late. I'm sorry I didn't call. I lost track of time. Did you eat? Please tell me you did." He said it in the same way one would read items on a grocery list, but as if he were repeating himself for the sixth time, growing tired, a little frustrated. _Bread. Milk. Butter. Yes, butter. Juice. Do we need juice?_

"I was worried," Jon said simply. "And yes, I ate."

"Good," Kai replied with a slight nod, linking his fingers and stretching long arms above his head.

Awkward silence descended on the table. Kai shifted his weight, tried to avoid his brother's stare. After several minutes, a waitress appeared, and Kai ordered a baked potato, smiling at her as he handed her his menu.

"Nothing for me," Jon said, not able to mirror his brother's smile. Once the waitress was gone, Jon pursed his lips and stared at his brother, who still refused to meet his gaze. "How many meters?" His tone was flat.

"What?" Kai responded, annoyance coloring his words, grabbing one of the shakers and tapping it anxiously on the table. _Tap. Tap tap. Tap. Tap tap tap tap._

Jon inclined his chin toward his brother, noticing again the damp hair that clung to Kai’s head.

Kai lifted his eyes just briefly before turning them back to his fingers gripping the shaker. "A thousand."

Jon did the quick math in his head. Forty laps. "How much did you do this morning?"

Kai's tapping halted abruptly, and he looked up at his brother, eyes narrowing. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Jon sighed heavily, reached across the table, and snatched the shaker out of his brother's hand. "Don't BS me. Every Saturday morning for the past four months you've gone to the Y to swim, before classes start and the little kids take over the pool."

"So maybe I didn't go this morning. Maybe I went before lunch, and that's why I'm late."

"You want to play this game? Fine." Jon stared down at the shaker, now in his hand, gave it a few annoyed taps, before huffing and pushing it aside. "What's going on?"

"Jon," Kai said, forcing his voice to be neutral. "I've lived almost my whole life without a father. I don't need one now."

Jon cradled his water glass, wiping condensation off onto his hands, trying to bite back how badly Kai's words had stung. "I just want to help."

Kai sighed, but it wasn't out of frustration, more like . . . acceptance. "You can't fix everything." Kai touched his brother's hand and their eyes met. "I'm not six anymore; I can deal with things by myself."

"I know you can," Jon said, his face pained. "That doesn't mean you have to."

Kai pulled away, leaning back in his chair, a faint smile gracing his face. "I love you, Jon. But some stuff I do have to handle on my own."

* * *

Jon and Kai had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening together in a kind of silent communion, trying to ignore the tension between them as much as possible. By ten, Kai had told Jon he’d decided to call it a night, and retired to his room, going through his nightly routine and determined to make a few important phone calls.

Kai sat on his bed, back against the wall, legs hanging off the edge. He was sore and tight everywhere from the double workout, but he didn't care. The extra swim had helped him clear his mind, and he knew what he needed to do.

Becca hadn't called again, so Kai went to his recent incoming calls and redialed the unfamiliar number from which she'd reached him before. It was possible he'd have no luck getting in touch with her. Fitting, even; she was around for him when she wanted, but if he needed her, that was another story. He frowned. No, he wasn't going to think like that. He had managed to push away nearly everything from his life pre-transplant, locking memories in the farthest reaches of his mind and sealing up any remembrances into a box he kept taped up in the back of his closet. He simply needed to add Becca to the list. And it needed to be done in person. While she might not have given him that benefit, he knew he'd only feel satisfied that things were well and truly over between them by looking her firmly in the eyes and telling her so himself.

The phone rang several times before a tired male voice answered. "Yeah?"

Kai swallowed, took a breath. "Is Becca there?"

Kai could almost hear the frown over the line, but shuffling sounds warped by the mic assaulted his ears, and the next voice he heard was hers.

"Yes?"

"Friday. The triangle quad, Jonesville U. Three."

"Kai?"

"You said you wanted to meet me. That's where I'll be, and when, if you want to talk." Without waiting for her to say anything else, he ended the call, letting out a breath. His chest felt tight, and he breathed slowly for a few minutes before releasing the air and dialing Renee.

She picked up after only the second ring. "Hello?"

Kai held the phone with his neck, then used his hands to help pull his right knee up onto the bed. He was stiff, but he'd been worse. 

"Hey, it's Kai."

He stretched his foot with his hands, knowing he'd have to stretch properly later, after he finished his calls.

"Hey," she said; he could hear the smile in her voice.

"I know there's some kind of unwritten rule about how long you should wait until you call someone after they've given you their number, but . . . I couldn't wait. Didn't want to wait."

"It's a silly rule anyway," she said, and he knew she was glowing. Even though he couldn't see it, he could sense it, her mood coloring her words.

"I figure since you're so far from home and you hadn't left yet, you're not going anywhere for the holiday," Kai said, the words coming in a rush as his heart beat quicker in his chest. "I was just wondering if you were doing anything Monday."

The line was silent for a moment, until finally Renee gasped, "Yes! I . . . uh . . . mean . . . no. I'm free Monday. My roommate won't be back till late. . . . But what about your brother? Don't you want to spend the holiday with him?"

"Jon's working. He's a doctor and likes to work holidays so he can see patients who can't get work off other days." Kai gripped his toes in one hand, flexing them, trying to break the cycle of contractions that had seized them.

"Huh. My doctor back home didn't even work Fridays, let alone holidays. What did you have in mind?"

Kai grinned, bit back a wince, and slowly let his hip rotate, his leg falling in a V, knee still bent. "I thought . . . maybe we could study? Get something to eat?"

She didn't answer immediately.

"Oh. Um. Unless you don't want to," he said a little crestfallen. He shifted the phone to his other shoulder and rubbed at the opposite one with his hand, pinching the muscle to relieve the tension.

"No! No." She cleared her throat. "That'd be great. We could go over some of the stuff you missed. Do you want to pick me up?"

Kai swallowed. He'd said no hiding, but the moment she got a good look at his car, saw the way he drove, spied the spare crutches he always kept in the backseat, any illusions he had of telling her at his own pace would burst and disappear. It'd leave an awkwardness that would color the whole day. Either because she was afraid to ask, or because he'd feel the need to explain everything and she'd be mad or weirded out or just treat him differently.

"Kai?"

Now it was his turn to clear his throat. "I'm here. Sorry. Uh, I think it'd work better if I just met you somewhere. Is that OK?" Kai's right calf twitched, and he rubbed at it with one hand, gripping the phone with the other.

The disappointment clung to her words. "Sure. I understand. Where do you want to meet up?"

The thought of inviting her to the apartment flashed through his mind, but if he couldn't even pick her up, then how could he invite her here? Besides, they'd only known each other two weeks. He might be a little naive, but not that much.

"Uh, you know that sandwich shop off Main?"

"The one with the sign that says, 'Best Chicken Salad in the Midwest' in the window?"

"That's it. They'll be open tomorrow, but probably not real busy. Most of their business will be catering, takeout, that type of thing. We can hang out in the back for a few hours; the owners won't mind." Kai pushed his right leg straight, braced the knee, and focused on flexing his ankle, pointing his toes toward his body, trying to get the calf muscles to relax. The muscles didn't respond immediately, a couple toes catching in spasm, but he concentrated, working through it.

"Do you know everyone in this town?" Renee said playfully, laughing.

Kai frowned, picked at the fabric of his pants. "No. But they know me." Before she could get a chance to ask for clarification, he said, "12:30 tomorrow. See you there. Bye."

Although it was late and he was tired, his muscles tight, some spasming, he knew he couldn't sleep yet. He'd already taken his meds. His peak flow was slightly down, but he chalked it off to stress and over doing it. His body beckoned for a good stretch, some muscle relaxant, and rest, but he knew he had one more thing to do.

* * *

"Come in," Nikki said with a nod, stepping away from the door to let him in. "You look totally wiped."

He smiled faintly, crutching in slowly. Nikki's apartment door was too narrow for his chair, but she was right: he was exhausted. "It's been a long day."

Carefully planting each crutch, coaxing his right leg forward, then pulling his left along with his body, he worked his way toward her bed, sinking down with relief. His back was tight, joining the rest of his aches. He laid his crutches on the floor, tucked partially under the bed, slipped off his bag, then each shoe. A moment later, Nikki stood in front of him, offering him a mug.

"Microwaved, since that's faster. Already saturated it in honey, just like you like it." She sank down next to him, gripping her own mug.

"Thanks," he said, taking a sip.

They sat together in silence, side by side. His back was spasming; it bothered him rarely, especially if he wasn't using his crutches as much. Simply a price to pay for the day, he thought, knowing he was lucky he hadn't had a full-blown attack.

"So. Long day?" Nikki said, sipping her tea, trying to prompt him to speak.

Kai nodded, staring into his mug, gripped in both hands, enjoying the warmth that penetrated his skin. He thought he could do this, but now that he was here, his resolution wavered.

"Nikki . . ." Kai began, then took in a deep breath, his back complaining from the movement. "I owe you a lot." He took another breath, shallower this time. "You've taught me so much," he said with a subtle smile, looking up at her. "You've been there when I needed to forget. You put up with my fucked-up . . ." His brow crinkled. ". . . -ness." He laughed nervously, and felt her hand smoothing along the tight muscles of his lower back. "And you're sexy as hell. But . . ." Another deep breath, a wince. He dropped his eyes, then forced himself to lift them to hers. 

Before he could continue, Nikki said, "You think we shouldn't see each other anymore."

Kai dropped his head, as if he'd suddenly realized its weight, nodding subtly.

Nikki frowned, but not deeply. She continued tracing her palm over Kai's back, muscles taunt. "What's her name?"

Kai jerked his head up, eyes widened in a mixture of confusion and surprise. "Huh?"

Nikki dropped her hand from his back and calmly sipped her tea. "Your white-picket-fence girl." Nikki stood, held out her hand for his mug. After a confused moment, he gave it back to her.

Without another word from either of them, Nikki strode to the kitchen and rinsed the mugs in the sink. Kai listened to the sounds of water flowing, of ceramic clinking, trying to decide what to do or say next. Nikki was as unreadable as he was when she wanted to be, maybe even more so. If she were hurt or angry, he couldn't tell.

Finally, the water shut off. She crossed back to the bed, where he still sat, and straddled his lap, hands on his shoulders. Once settled, she planted a quick peck on the tip of his nose. 

"I'm proud of you," she whispered, kissing his nose again. "Spend the night. One last time?"

Kai's eyebrows dipped, staring into her eyes, trying to read them, but they refused to speak. He contemplated her invitation. Jon knew he’d left the apartment, saying he was going to visit a friend. As overbearing as his brother could be, Kai was grateful Jon hadn’t pressed him for details on exactly who the “friend” was that he spent so many nights with. Other than giving him some trouble about pushing himself too hard, Jon hadn’t judged. What would be one more night? One last night together?

Kai reached up, large palm cradling her face, pulling her toward him. They kissed, tentatively, almost chastely, more words expressed in their lips than they'd previously spoken. It was a kiss that said, _Goodbye. Thank you. I'm sorry. If._

* * *

Kai opened his eyes to darkness: an intense, overwhelming, crushing, suffocating pain in the center of his chest. He gulped at air, only to meet mouthfuls of something powdery, earthy, musty. Dirt. He panicked, clawing frantically, trying to dig through the blackness, panting, choking, fear pressing tensely, urgently against him.

Light. Air. Escape. These were his only desperate thoughts as he felt his strength waning, his mind beginning to flutter and fade. He was shaking. No, the darkness itself was trembling, and he had no air left, his throat closed tight in defeat. A voice echoed in soil-filled ears, seeming murky, distant, as if he were underwater instead of underground. It vibrated through the earth, through his body, in tune with the tremor. He felt the pull of unconsciousness, strong, compelling, like a powerful wind gripping him and carrying him away.

" _Kai!_ " The voice was clearer, louder, more insistent. Despite the shudders, the intense pressure in his chest, he wanted to slip into the blackness, yield to its embrace.

"Kai!"

A sharp sting of pain burst through his cheek, and his eyes snapped open. To a dimly lit, yet blurry room. His eyes struggled to focus as pain and desperation slammed into him, his body fighting for air. Awareness didn't fully come to him yet, even as a hand gripped tightly on his arm, shook him.

"Kai, don't fucking die on me. Wake up."

He forced a blink. Air felt like something solid, tangible and stubborn, resisting the movement in and out of his body. Suddenly, the figure hovering above him cleared, his mind recognizing the silhouette. Nikki. Nikki clutching him with one hand, a phone in the other. And he came back to himself, if only barely, his body battling for oxygen, breathing raspy, high-pitched, panicked.

"Pants," he managed to say, and Nikki frowned, confused, before leaping off the bed.

He struggled to focus, to try to calm the hysterical reaction of his body, attempt to push himself up. Several tries as the flutter of fabric off to one side warred against blood rattling in his ears, wheeze loud out of panting mouth. Finally sitting, leaning forward, his breathing eased, if only slightly, ribs pulling frantically, neck muscles flexing in a desperate search for air.

"Here," Nikki said, shoving an object into his hand.

He had to concentrate, focus on breathing, on using the inhaler. Survival left no space for thought beyond continuing to exist through sheer force and will.

"I think you stopped breathing. I couldn't wake you. I called 9-1-1." Nikki's voice was urgent but surprisingly calm.

Kai shook his head, not able to answer more than that as he focused, trying to sense the effects of the medicine. But he felt heavy, his body wanting to sink back down to the bed. He was tired. His back, neck, sides ached, and his head grew foggy again, the reflex to breathe fading. It'd be so easy to just close his eyes. . . .

Kai wavered, collapsed sideways on the bed, slipped back into darkness.


	7. September 3, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath of the attack; Nikki stays with Kai and Kai and Jon have some brotherly bonding, but Jon is beginning to be concerned about his brother. . . .

Nikki sat in one of the ER waiting room chairs, legs folded and pulled up in her pajama pants, tank top riding up to expose part of her back, bag resting in the space between her legs. She nibbled anxiously on her right thumbnail, wishing she'd brought her Nicotrol inhaler, or even better, her cigarettes.

Her stomach churned as she switched to the other thumbnail, her right knee bobbing, trying to work out her anxiety. The paramedics had arrived only a few minutes after Kai passed out. They'd injected him with something that brought him to long enough for him to refuse the tube they'd wanted to put down his throat, supposedly to help him breathe. But he'd been only semi-lucid during the short ride to the hospital, and Nikki had been told to wait while they took him away.

So she waited.

She'd been sitting here for almost an hour, and in a few more, she was supposed to report for her shift at the diner. She switched, her left knee bobbing now while she gnawed on her right thumb. Nikki remembered Kai’s mutterings in the diner a couple days before. He'd said something about rejection. About not being cured. He'd been really shook up. An attack, especially like this, wasn't supposed to have happened, Nikki realized. So since it had. . . .

 _Fuck_. It had to be really bad.

Nikki felt her eyes misting and struggled to blink the pending tears away. She wasn't going to cry, she never cried! In fact, even with all the shit she'd been through, she couldn't remember a single time in her adult life that she'd given into the luxury of tears. She wouldn't start now. At least not until she heard how Kai was doing.

Any time she saw anyone remotely medical-looking walk by, her heart would beat a little faster, hoping the wait was over. But the minutes passed in slow succession until she had all ten fingers chewed down to bloody cuticles. Finally, a young, tired-looking doctor approached. Nikki leapt to her feet, surprised she didn't fall over from having her legs folded up for so long.

". . . Fiancée, yes," Nikki replied, when he sought to confirm her identity, hoping the lie would get her info, maybe even the chance to see Kai.

"We have him on some medicine and a machine to help him breathe, to give his muscles a break." The doctor paused.

Nikki hesitated for a moment, so many questions swirling through her head, all battling to be voiced. "I thought he didn't want a machine--"

The doctor cleared his throat, smiled a faint, mildly condescending smile. "He refused invasive airway support," he began to explain, then seemed to realize that might be too technical. "He's on something called a BiPAP. A mask sits over his face, and, through alternate pressures, helps pull and push air in and out. So he doesn't have to work to breathe, and can rest."

Nikki nibbled her lip. "So does this mean he's OK?" That was the first question she should have asked, she knew, but it had somehow struggled to formulate. But if he weren't OK, the doc would have approached things differently, right?

The doctor shifted his weight. "The good news is the preliminary tests don't indicate infection or rejection . . ."

"But?" Nikki tucked her hands under her arms to resist chewing on her fingers again.

He prefaced his response with a sigh. "We're not entirely sure why he had the attack in the first place, and though we'd like to admit him for observation and further tests, he's declining further treatment."

Nikki couldn't help smiling. If Kai was well enough to be stubborn, things couldn't be too bad. "Can I see him?"

The doctor nodded, then gestured for her to follow him as he lead her toward the back exam rooms of the ER. He turned his head a few times, whether to check she was behind him or say something, she wasn't sure. If he had intended to speak, he changed his mind each time.

They wove past other doctors, nurses, curtains, until he finally stopped in front of one. She could hear a subtle whoosh of air coming from the other side of the curtain, but otherwise, the noises that echoed around her were distant. Feet shuffling, low voices, subtle clatter.

"He's not going to be able to speak while on the machine," the doctor explained in a low voice. "But perhaps you can convince him to let us admit him. It's important we get to the bottom of this."

Nikki nodded, sucked in a breath, and walked through the curtain when the doctor parted it for her.

* * *

The space was small, barely large enough for the bed, machines, and a single chair. Nikki immediately noticed Kai's face, almost entirely obscured by the mask. The tubing lead to a machine off to one side, filled with rows of information Nikki wouldn't have understood even if she'd been closer. His chest rose and fell in a regular, even rhythm. Another monitor displayed his heart rate and still more info, the wires poking out from the top of the hospital gown. An IV line was taped to the inside of his left elbow, snaking up and away. As she approached, she could see his eyes were closed, the only part of his face that wasn't obscured by the mask. It completely covered his mouth and nose, then had anther piece that rested on his forehead. The whole thing held in place by multiple thin black Velcro straps. It looked uncomfortable, but if it helped him. . . .

Nikki pulled the seat closer and sank into it, reaching for his hand. She was surprised when she felt him squeeze it, and when she looked up, she saw his eyes had fluttered open. He blinked a few times, then settled his gaze on her. The normally subtle hint of green in his irises was strong, making his eyes appear like the Caribbean sea on an overcast day, the usual brilliant blue obscured by shadows. They were tired and heavy, although she wasn't able to read them completely.

She squeezed his hand hard. "Don't you ever fucking do that to me again, you hear me?"

He blinked quickly a few times, then widened his eyes. They said, _I'm sorry_.

Nikki sighed, reached up to smooth the top of his head. "I'm just glad you're OK. I was worried."

Kai pulled his hand from Nikki's, brought it to his chin, just below the edge of the mask, then extended it, back handed, out. He moved it up to his forehead, and Nikki recognized the . . . what had he called it? Name sign meaning "Nikki." Then, dropping his hand, he formed it into a fist, thumb extended and pointing up. He jerked it slightly, opening his hand and sweeping it outward and down. Next, his fist moved to his chest, where he moved it in a circle over his heart.

Nikki shook her head. "I'm sorry. I don't understand."

She saw frustration flare in his eyes, and a thought occurred to her. She reached into her bag and pulled out her phone, shifted it to text messaging, and handed it to him.

Nikki watched as he awkwardly typed out a message before showing it to her.

_Thk u. 4 evrythng. Sorry. Didnt wnt 2 drg u in2 this._

Nikki stared at the message, reading it over several times before frowning. "I only play an asshole on TV," Nikki said with a wry smile. "You don't need to thank me. I'm just glad I convinced you to stay the night and that you're OK. You are OK, right? The doctor said he wanted to admit you but you wouldn't let him."

He looked at her for a moment, his eyes full of emotion, yet as indecipherable as his sign language. She was quickly learning the worst thing about the mask wasn't that it prohibited him from talking, but it hid and prevented his facial expressions. Finally, he took the phone from her again and spent a couple minutes typing a new message.

_Dont wry. Knw wht im doing. Ill b fine. Jst nd rst._

She read, shaking her head even though she understood. "Then I'll call in and pick up a later shift. You can rest at my place for awhile, unless you want me to take you straight to your apartment." She paused for a moment. "But I get a feeling you don't want your brother to know about all this just yet."

Kai closed his eyes and kept them shut for a moment. Nikki watched the gentle, even rise and fall of his chest. Finally, he opened his eyes again and shook his head just enough for her to pick up on the _No_.

Nikki stood, taking her phone, and kissed him at the top of his forehead, just beneath where his hair began, the only place she could find enough exposed skin. "Let me call in real quick, and I'll be back. Try to sleep." She frowned at herself, but quickly pushed it into a smile for his sake, giving his hand a squeeze before dashing out.

* * *

Kai let his eyes fall closed as soon as Nikki disappeared through the curtain. He felt like an asshole. Signed or typed, even spoken--once he was off the machine-- _Sorry_ seemed such a hollow word. He'd used Nikki in more ways than one, and she'd probably saved his life. Now she was willing to miss work, collude with him in keeping this fiasco from Jon, and all after he'd basically broken up with her. Not that they'd ever really been _together_ , but it had become obvious over the past few weeks that they'd somehow crossed over from being merely fuck-buddies who consoled each other with sex to something else. Some fuzzy grey area that terrified them both. Yet even before this attack, Nikki had been the only one with whom he'd shared his fears about his dyspneaic episodes. They kept themselves back, yet still found some shred of communion. She hadn't even tried to convince him to let them admit him, or question why he wanted to keep things from his brother.

Kai felt himself drifting. The theophylline IV had nearly run its course, and the BiPAP made breathing effortless. Even the achy soreness in his body seemed to have faded into a dull numbness. He'd have to tell Nikki he was fine enough to drive himself home, once he got back to his car, still parked outside her apartment. No need for her to get any more involved in this than she had already. And maybe, if he were lucky, he could sneak into the apartment without encountering his brother. He could avoid dealing with this, whatever _this_ was, for at least a day. Maybe.

Exhaustion pulled him toward sleep, despite his mind's efforts to stay awake, thinking, planning. He was drained, that tiredness that seemed to emanate from his bones, weighing him down, which he only felt after a major attack. And permeating its fringes was fear. If it wasn't rejection or infection, it could only be one thing. None of the doctors had said it, of course, but he knew. The transplant hadn't cured him; it'd only bought him time. And the clock was ticking. Again.

* * *

Assured by one of the ER nurses that even without admission they wouldn’t kick Kai out for several hours, Nikki decided to catch a cab home. She could change, grab some clothes for Kai, and call the diner to see about changing shifts. 

The apartment looked just as she’d left it. Kai’s stuff on the floor on one side of the bed, the sheets pushed aside, the lights still on. Nikki dumped her bag on the mattress, then hurriedly pulled off her tank top and PJ bottoms, tossed them on the bed. A shower was tempting, but she decided against it, pulling her phone out of her purse and dialing while she fished out some clean clothes from her closet.

"Jonesville Diner. Marge."

"It’s Nikki," she said simply, hopping into a pair of comfortable, faded pink cotton pants with cracked white lettering on the butt that said Jonesville U. Nikki enjoyed shopping the clearance bin at the campus bookstore; at the ends of semesters, especially, you could grab some clothes cheap if you didn’t care what color they were. It didn’t bother her that she’d never gone to college, that she’d never wanted to. She was happy at the diner. It wasn’t the easiest job, and especially with the night shift, you had to deal with the drunks and the occasional trucker, but it was a hell of a lot better than some of the other dives she’d worked in the past.

"If you’re calling to tell me you’re coming in early, you’re a peach."

Nikki sighed, tied the waist on her pants, and searched, one-handed, for a bra and shirt.

"Actually, I was hoping you could find someone to cover for me." Crocking the phone between her head and shoulder, Nikki strapped on the first bra she found: a pink, leopard-print push-up with black trim. "I’ll do anything. I’ll cover the graveyard for a month. Please, Marge."

Nikki heard background noises: the clatter of plates, the chopping of vegetables. It was likely Marge was already helping Clyde prep for the busy morning ahead, phone pressed to one ear mimicking Nikki’s own position, while her hands busied doing chores around the kitchen. Marge didn’t own the diner, but she practically managed it herself, and Nikki knew if Marge ever decided to retire, it’d probably fall apart.

"You had off yesterday. Hangovers ain’t an excuse."

Nikki adjusted her bra, then held the phone to her ear, taking a quick sniff of each pit before deciding to dash into the bathroom for some body spray. "So if I don’t show, you’ll fire me?" A few spritzes and the air bloomed with pineapple and mango and strawberry.

Marge sighed heavily over the phone. "You’re our best waitress. But this is Sunday morning before Labor Day. You can’t do this to me."

Nikki splashed some water on her face, then jogged back out to slip into the zippered hoodie that matched her pants. "What if I had a good reason for bowing out?" Nikki sighed, debating about how much to tell Marge, as she stuffed Kai’s clothes into his bag. "Don’t freak out, OK?"

"OK," Marge said, her tone shifted, drawing out the word, tension evident in her voice. "What’s going on, Nikki?" Marge asked. Nikki zipped up Kai’s bag and searched the front pocket for his car keys. "You in some kinda trouble?"

Nikki sighed, grabbing Kai’s keys and slinging his bag over her shoulder, making sure to grab her own and cross it over her chest so it’d be secure, hands free. "Not me. . . . Kai . . . ." Nikki said vaguely, gathering his crutches in one hand and heading toward the front door.

"This have anything to do with him coming into the diner yesterday in a wheelchair? Or all the pie the day before?"

Nikki pulled the door open and laid Kai's crutches against the outside wall so she could avoid dropping them or the phone as she squeezed out the apartment, making sure the door locked behind her. "No. . . . It’s. . . . Kai’s . . . in the hospital right now. He’s going to be OK, but he doesn’t have anyone to be with him."

Nikki carefully leaned his crutches against the car, relieved to see his wheelchair, disassembled, in the back seat.

After a long silence, Marge finally said, "You ain’t the new Becca, are you?"

Nikki unlocked the car, opened the back passenger’s side door, and tossed his crutches in. "Fuck, Marge. I’m being a friend." She dumped each of their bags on the seat, slamming the door to ease some of her frustration. "If you’re going to fire me, fine. I’ll find a job somewhere else."

“Nikki, I don’t proclaim to know everything, but when you’re in this business as long as I’ve been, you come to read people. That boy needs. He’s tried to fill it with pie. And with you. But if someone’s jonesing for a hamburger, and all you got is grilled cheese. . . . Yeah, you might satisfy their hunger, but will they really be full?”

* * *

By the time Nikki got back to Kai, the mask had been removed, replaced by tubes feeding oxygen into his nose. His face was still slightly marked from the mask and supports, red impressions in his skin. Based on this evidence, she surmised he hadn't been off the machine long. The IV was also gone, a bandage wrapped around his elbow. He was asleep, face pale where it wasn't marked, the movement of his chest almost imperceptible.

Nikki sank into the chair, wishing she'd managed to imbibe some coffee at some point, feeling the lack of sleep beginning to catch up with her. Sighing, she picked up Kai's hand, smoothing her fingers over his. Even like this, he was beautiful in his sleep. A part of her wanted to climb into bed beside him, wrap her arms around him, and fall asleep with their bodies pressed together. She'd kept him at a distance, hadn't fought him last night when he'd stuttered out what she knew was inevitable, that he'd found someone, what he needed. Had she been wrong? Should she have tried to be more for him than a good fuck? She frowned bitterly at herself. She was going to miss him. Fuck, she already did.

* * *

Nikki woke, groggy, confused, and stiff, not certain how long she'd been out. Kai was still asleep, the marks on his face fading, but present enough to indicate it couldn't have been long. She stood up, stretched, looked down at him. His hair was a mess of golden tangles, and she couldn't resist sweeping some of it to the side, enjoying its softness. Fine, but not thin, straight, but with a subtle wave to it. She laid her hand gently on his head, her thumb stroking over the remains of the impression on his forehead, as if she could smooth it away.

His eyes opened, a small smile lifting his cheeks as they met each others' gaze. She could see, despite the attempt at a smile, the warmth in his eyes--bluer now--how exhausted he was.

"I thought you had work," he said, his voice gravely, as if it'd been a long time since he’d used it. Still, it was nice to hear it again.

"I called in. Went home to change, get you some clothes, the car. Hope that's OK." She could see keeping his eyes open was a battle.

"Why are you doing this?" His eyes were round with innocent pleading, a quiet sort of desperation, like a very young child, lost, searching for a familiar face in the crowd.

She looked away, not certain she could answer him. She'd snapped at Marge for the Becca reference, and she definitely didn't want to compare herself to the woman who had used Kai, but. . . . Nikki did know she wanted to be there for him now. He obviously wanted to handle this without his brother, and the girl--whose name he'd never given--obviously wasn't involved enough for him to bring her into this. Unless . . . he wanted to deal with this himself, alone. Forcing herself to meet his eyes again, she knew that wasn't true. The look of relief on his face when he'd woken to find her here, not gone to work, spoke volumes.

"Because I can," she said finally, planting a kiss on the tip of his nose. She didn't resist the urge to smooth his hair and forehead again, watching his eyes drift closed, enjoying the contact. “Other than tired, you feeling better? Still sure you want to go home?”

Kai inhaled deeply through his nose, let his eyes flicker open to take her in, the sweet, faint smile returning. “Yes to both.” He reached up and found her hand, holding it to the side of his face. If he’d intended any further explanation, he didn’t follow through. Instead, they enjoyed the silence of each others’ company, sharing their touch.

The curtain parted, and a throat cleared, dragging their attention to the same worn doctor Nikki had spoken with earlier. Without much of a word, the doctor strode to the monitor, checked some numbers, then picked up one of Kai’s hands. He seemed to be studying Kai’s fingers carefully. Kai watched him impassively, also saying nothing.

After a minute, the doc dropped Kai’s hand and frowned. “I don’t suppose you’ve changed your mind?”

Kai shook his head.

The doctor inhaled, nodded. “I’m still not happy with your O2 sats. And we should run some more tests.” He looked to Nikki, as if for help. She simply smiled and shook her head. Letting out a sigh, he said, “Then make sure you sign the treatment refusal forms. And call your doctor. You should see him ASAP. Get plenty of rest, no strenuous activity for at least a couple days. Make sure you check your peak flow, minimum twice a day.”

Kai took another deep breath through his nose and nodded. “Got it. Not my first rodeo. So I’m free to go?”

The doctor frowned. “More or less,” he said. He pressed a few buttons on the monitor, pulled the oximeter off of Kai’s finger, and detached where the leads of his chest plugged into the wires leading to the heart monitor. Then he reached around, turning off the flow of oxygen at the source in the wall and taking the cannulae from Kai.

Kai immediately felt the loss of oxygen, Nikki could tell, though he was obviously determined not to let it show.

“All right, don’t forget those forms,” the doctor said. Right before he ducked out of the curtain, he added, “Don’t let me see you in here again any time soon.”

Kai pushed himself up, then paused, as if he were dizzy or needed to catch his breath, or the action was simply draining. Maybe a combination of all three. When he finally looked up, he smiled at her. 

“God, I’m so ready to be out of here. Please tell me you brought my chair. It was in the back of my car.”

She grinned, kissed his forehead. “Even better. I brought your car. Lets get you in some clothes and get you home.”

Nikki set his bag on the bed, beginning to pull out his jeans and underwear and shirt. She felt his hand on her arm and looked up.

“Actually . . . if the offer’s still open . . .”

She smiled. Pulled some fingers through his disheveled hair. “I’m always open to you.” Then she burst out into a laugh, and he did, too, and they pressed their foreheads together, still chuckling softly.

“Thank you,” Kai whispered, the hint of his laughter still carrying on his voice.

Nikki didn’t have to ask him what he was grateful for.

* * *

Kai had managed to phone his brother to tell him he wouldn’t be home for a few more hours. Then, he'd taken his morning meds and stripped down to his boxers before finally collapsing in Nikki’s bed and giving into his exhaustion. 

A few hours later, he woke to the smell of fried butter. His breathing had eased, the weariness had subsided so that he simply felt tired instead of weighed down, and a quick glance at his fingernails--the beds pink instead of blue or white--suggested his sats were better. He rubbed his hand through the disaster of his hair and pushed his way to the edge of the bed. He pulled his T-shirt on and grabbed his crutches, grateful his legs had loosened over the past few hours as he heaved himself up to his feet.

His right leg seemed to be behaving itself, so he used it and the crutches in concert to swing-through the short distance to the kitchen. Leaning against a counter, he watched Nikki flipping sandwiches in a pan.

“Hey,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him with a gentle smile. “Figured you had to be hungry. I’m no chef, but think I can manage a grilled cheese.”

He slipped out of his crutches, left them propped against the cabinets, and used the counter on her left side to help pull himself closer behind her. Then he braced himself with an arm around her waist, leaning heavily on his right leg. Her back rested against his chest and stomach.

“I know ‘sorry’ and ‘thank you’ don’t cut it, but . . .”

She shrugged, lifting up the edge of one of the sandwiches to check its doneness. “You know . . .” she hesitated. “You know you can always come to me. I’ll always be here,” she said, grimacing, grateful he couldn’t see her face. She sounded so stupidly needy and pathetic. “I just meant . . .”

He shifted his weight and grip on her, then reached to the cabinet and pulled out two plates, setting them on the counter beside the stove. She couldn’t help leaning into him a bit; not enough to set him off balance, just to get a little closer. How could she have thrown this away? She loved the feel of his chest pressing against her with each inhalation, and closed her eyes just for a moment, as if she could commit this instance to memory, replay it later.

“I’m pretty sure they’re done,” he said softly, dipping his head toward her ear, tracing a hand along her forearm as if to wake it.

It sent a tingle through her entire body, but she snapped out of it, carefully scooping the slightly dark sandwiches onto the plates. After shutting off the stove, she turned carefully in his arm so they were facing each other, her head tilted back to meet his eyes.

“We should eat,” she said, her voice a little hoarse.

“Yeah. We should,” he agreed, his breathing a little more ragged, his eyes dark.

She reached up to cradle his cheek, or maybe to try to bring him closer–she wasn’t sure–because suddenly his stomach gurgled loudly, a reminder that neither of them had eaten anything since the evening before.

They laughed together. “Guess that’s our cue,” he said, twisting and reaching back for a crutch for his left arm.

She saw him ready to grab his plate with his right hand and shrugged him off. “I got it. Go sit.”

He looked at her, eyes narrowing.

She sighed. “Is your stubbornness the reason you’ve survived all these years?” 

“Partially,” he said with a sly grin.

She shoved the plate into his empty hand. “Fine. Go ahead, then. I’ll get drinks.”

Nikki quickly turned her back on him again, opening the fridge and staring into it for a moment, trying to cool her face, which suddenly felt uncomfortably warm. She grabbed two cans of Coke, then remembered he didn’t drink caffeine, and swapped one for a bottled water. Another thing she realized she did just for him; she’d always been perfectly happy with tap. She let her forehead come to rest on the freezer door, the fridge still open.

“Nikki? You OK?”

His concerned voice snapped her out of her numbness and she shut the door, snagging her plate and planting a smile on her face. “You’re not dead; the sandwiches aren’t completely burnt. Life is good.”

Kai laughed quietly.

Her smile faded quickly as soon as she took her seat across from him. She looked up, wanting to say something, but unable to find the words.

“I’ve been an asshole,” he said, his face contrite, picking up his sandwich as if he intended to take a bite. Instead, he simply held it, almost as if he’d forgotten what to do with it.

“No. This was never supposed to have been more than fucking. The fact that it . . . became whatever it became is more my fault than yours.” She picked off the crust bit by bit. It gave her something to focus on. “I let myself. . . . Anyway, it doesn’t matter. I hope you’ll still drop by the diner. Or call me. If there’s no one else. . . . And you need somebody. . . .”

“ _Perfectly fucked up_ ,” he said, sim-comming, speaking while he signed. “We really are a matched set.”

“More like odds ‘n ends picked up at a flea market.” She tossed down a bit of bread toward the pile of crust chunks she’d formed while they spoke, then forced herself to look up at him. “Be happy with her, OK?”

* * *

Jon was lounging in the couch, laptop open in his lap, the TV tuned to football, although he wasn't really watching it, the volume turned nearly all the way down. He heard the door click open, and a few minutes later, the subtle squeak of Kai's chair. He pushed his computer aside and stood. Kai looked paler than normal and tired, his face drawn.

"I'm assuming by the fact that you're not yelling at me means you got my message."

Jon nodded, crossed his arms over his chest. “What's going on, Kai? Yesterday, with the two workouts, being late for lunch. Being gone over half today when you knew I wasn't working so we could spend some time together. Showing up and looking like you haven't slept in days. Don't tell me you're fine. Talk to me.”

Kai stared into Jon's eyes for a long while, looking broken and defeated. “I can't, Jon.”

“Can’t? Or won’t?” Jon pulled his fingers through his hair and sunk back down into the sofa. He crossed his ankles and stared at the TV.

Kai sighed, pushed closer to the couch, and transferred so he was sitting next to his brother. “I’m sorry, Jon.”

Jon shrugged, let his head fall back. “Whatever you're up to is none of my business. I get it. You don’t need my help. Or want it.”

“Jon . . .” Kai pulled a leg up and turned so he was facing his brother more.

Jon didn’t move.

“Look,” Kai said, touching Jon’s arm with just his fingertips, “I know your ASL isn’t great, but . . . it’d be easier for me if I could sign instead of talk about this.”

Surprised, Jon eased up, and mimicked his brother’s position, strange mirrors of each other. “I’ll do my best.”

Kai cradled the back of his neck for a moment, just breathing. Finally, he brought his hands to chest level and began signing hesitantly. “ _Lately I’ve been . . . confused_.” Kai’s facial expressions were enough to help convey his meaning.

“Confused?”

Kai nodded.

Jon’s eyes grew wide, his brows knitting, mouth dropping open. He looked like a caricature. “You mean, like you think you might be . . . gay?”

Kai started to laugh, the laughter escalating. Every time he tried to stop, he’d look up at Jon, who appeared even more perplexed and horrified than he had before, and Kai'd laugh harder, bent over, struggling for breath. After several minutes, Kai sat back, getting himself under control again. Forgetting himself for a moment, he began to sign rapidly.

Jon held up his hands. “Woah, woah. Slow down. Now I’m the one confused.”

Kai took a large breath. “ _Sorry. That look on your face. . . . I hope I never forget that look._ ”

Jon gripped his hair but said nothing.

“ _I’m not gay_.”

“I take it that means ‘gay,’” Jon said, mimicking his brother’s sign, thumb and index finger held opposite each other, then tapped on the chin.

Kai nodded. “You find some free time, I’d appreciate it if you took a refresher. It’s important to me.”

“ _I’m sorry_ ,” Jon signed, one he remembered.

Kai shrugged. He seemed to have lost his resolution to confess whatever it was he wanted to say.

“ _Please say me_ ,” Jon tried to sign, making his face as earnest as he could. “ _I’m sorry_.”

Kai rolled his eyes, sighed, and sim-commed, demonstrating what he knew Jon had meant to say, “ _Tell me_ ,” index finger from lips down to chest. “Refresher.”

Jon reddened. “Sorry. Easier for me to understand you than . . .”

“I get it.” Kai leaned back against the couch arm, rubbed his eyes, stretched. “ _There’s this girl I’ve been fucking_ ,” Kai said, watching his brother’s face for a reaction. “ _Girl. Fuck. Me._ ” Kai repeated, demonstrating the signs and speaking them, knowing his brother hadn’t got it. “ _That’s where I go._ ”

Jon nodded. “I suspected as much.”

“ _That’s all it’s ever been. Just sex, really. . . ._ Mutual agreement _._ ” Kai glanced over at the TV; the Colts were kicking a field goal. He sighed, turned back to his brother. “ _But there’s this other girl, from school. I’m pretty sure she likes me, and I like her. . . ._ ” Kai paused to see if Jon had gotten it.

“Girl. School. Like. You like a girl from school, she likes you. So you weren’t sure how to handle things with . . . this other girl. The one you’re sleeping with.”

Kai struggled not to laugh again at Jon. “Yes. _Last night, I went to the girl thinking I’d call it off, but . . ._ ” Kai paused, fingers in the end of the sign for “but,” index fingers of each hand spaced apart and pointing up.

“ _But you’re confused_ ,” Jon signed, smiling, knowing he had to have gotten it right since Kai had used both signs.

Kai chuckled before his face grew serious. “Yeah. _I don’t know. Some things happened, and I’m wondering if maybe there is something between us? I don’t know what to do_ ,” Kai finished, sim-comming, frowning, eyebrows dipped sternly.

Jon carded his fingers through his hair several times, thinking. “I appreciate your talking to me. But considering the mess that is my love life, not sure if I’m the one who should be giving relationship advice.”

“Advise me anyway. Otherwise, how can I be stubborn and ignore it? Isn’t that what little brothers are supposed to do?”

Jon laughed. “Go with your gut. . . . Heart. . . . Brain?”

Kai chuckled. “Guess that’s what I get for asking a doctor for advice.”

Jon shrugged, mussed his hair. “Not going out every night might make a big difference with dealing with your course load, though.”

Kai rolled his eyes. “This coming from the guy who finished high school two years early, did college and med school in six, and is double-board certified in both adult and peds pulm. And you’re what . . . thirty?”

Jon sighed, covered his face with his hands, muttered to himself, “When you have nothing, you need to find something.”

Kai heard him though, and nodded. When Jon moved his hands, he saw Kai was flicking the rubber band against his wrist hard, over and over.

Jon pointed. “You want to talk about that?”

Kai seemed to snap out of a trance, growing pale and covering his wrist with his other hand. “It’s nothing.”

Jon studied his brother, brows deeply furrowed. “Are girls the only thing bothering you?”

Kai returned his brother’s gaze, face stoic, then pulled himself into his chair. “Thanks for the advice. I think I’m going to lie down, try to study. Let’s grab dinner together somewhere later?”

Kai didn’t give Jon the opportunity to respond to that non-answer. Concern and worry lined Jon’s face as he found his fingers slipping below his shirt, under the waistband of his pants and briefs, right along the edge of the psoas muscle of his right hip. The scars had faded long ago, but Jon remembered them. Remembered making them, and hoped his concerns about Kai were unfounded.


	8. September 4, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai and Renee study together; Jon gets a date. Kai and Renee kiss for the first time. Kai has a severe MLS attack.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry that I stopped updating this story! It's been a hell of a year. I'm going to try to get back to posting chapters for this regularly. Subscribe if you don't want to miss them!
> 
> You can also follow me on tumblr @plague-of-insomnia or Twitter @chiealeman

The sandwich shop was nearly empty when Renee stepped through the doors. She was a little late, having spent nearly an hour agonizing over what to wear. Finally, she'd settled on a pair of denim capris that hugged her body, along with a cute short-sleeved, polka-dotted red blouse. It dipped just enough in front to be sexy without making Renee feel uncomfortable. She'd even worn the expensive push-up bra Diane had insisted she buy, since it made her modest breasts appear fuller and rounder.

Her heart pounded in her throat as she strode through the restaurant, looking for Kai. The front room held the counter and a scattering of chairs and tables, between which a tile pathway led to a back room. This space was larger than she'd expected, filled with more tables, some of them large and long with benches to accommodate large groups. Although it was quiet, Renee could imagine the place bustling with the lunch crowd, a combination of students, businessmen, and housewives all hunched over their sandwiches, the din of dozens of conversations echoing off the walls.

Kai sat at the left end of one of the large wooden tables, facing her, his head bent over an open book. One hand idly tapped out a loose rhythm against the table with a highlighter. She could have stood there for hours, just watching him in silence, but she longed to see his face, hear his voice.

"Hey. Sorry I'm late."

He looked up, smiled faintly at her. His face seemed tired, worn-out, stressed, as if it were the week before finals instead of the start of the semester. "'S OK," he said, as if it were one word. Then he seemed to finally take her in, and his smile broadened, although the weariness in his eyes hadn't cleared. "You look nice."

She smiled, unable to hide a blush, dumping her backpack on the floor. "Thanks," she said, sitting down on the bench across the table from him.

He stretched to snag a menu from the middle of the table and handed it to her. "You hungry? Take a look and decide what you want."

She nodded and pretended to study it, although she already knew she had to try the famous chicken salad. Instead, she took the opportunity to glance up at him every so often. A part of her hoped she'd catch him doing the same; it could have simply been silly romantic longing, but she swore she felt the heat of those blue eyes on her when she wasn't looking.

"Know what you want?" He'd folded his arms on his textbook, and was leaned forward, as if studying her now instead of history.

She nodded.

"OK. Good. My treat."

"I couldn't . . ."

"For the notes." He smiled, warm, inviting, his eyes softening.

She melted into it, stammered out a protest. "You already bought me coffee the other day."

His smile widened. "Then for meeting me. Helping me study. Consider it payment for your time."

"You don't need to buy that," she blurted, immediately flushing.

He laughed softly, shook his head. "Fair enough. I'm still buying."

Kai turned in his seat, using his hands to help arrange his feet. Then he pushed against the sturdy wood table to help get himself to his feet, reaching down to his left knee before standing fully upright. His feet seemed perfectly straight, almost unnaturally parallel to each other. She couldn't help staring. He was so tall, and even though he was dressed in his usual--dark, loose-fitting carpenter jeans and a polo, buttoned all the way in one size too big for him--she could see the muscles in his arms, the definition in his shoulders he couldn't completely mask. 

Kai was certainly a mystery. He clearly had a beautiful body, one that came from hard work. Most guys she'd known who worked out regularly did it partially--if not largely--for the satisfaction of showing off the fruits of their labor. But Kai seemed more interested in hiding. It simultaneously perplexed and intrigued her.

She watched as he steadied himself, leaning more on his right, and extended a hand to help her up. Either he misjudged her weight, or he was stronger than she expected, because she was pulled to her feet, suddenly finding herself pressed against him. Unless it had been on purpose. _Oh, God_ . He smelled subtly _clean_ : the almost imperceptible odor of chlorine, soap, deodorant. A blank canvas of indistinct scents. She tilted her head to look up at him, her hand pressing against the flat plane of his stomach as if by reflex. She could feel the firm muscles beneath the fabric of his shirt, and it took a moment for her brain to switch on and enable her to take a step back.

Renee had to clear her throat to find her voice. "Thanks. . . . Sorry." Her face grew hot, and she could barely follow the motion of his hand, indicating for her to go, and he would follow.

* * *

As soon as Renee strode up the slight ramp in the doorway connecting the rear of the restaurant to the front, she turned to wait for him, watching him lumber along. It was subtle, something easy to overlook, but she saw how he pushed off with his right foot, partially using his good leg and his trunk to help ease his stiff left leg forward. Although he walked casually enough, each step clearly took effort. When he reached the doorway, he instinctively reached out with both hands to grab the frame on each side, pulling himself up into the room. She realized he must wear some kind of brace on that leg beneath his jeans. What had happened, she wondered. An accident? Some kind of injury? A broken leg that hadn't healed properly?

He smiled at her once he drew closer. It wasn't self-conscious, just a bit reserved. "You can see running isn't one of my hobbies."

They walked side by side now. She was afraid to laugh, even to smile. In fact, it took her a moment for her brain to process anything other than what he might look like under those clothes. Was he scarred, and that's why he dressed as he did?

"Can I ask, what . . . what happened to your leg?"

He sighed through his teeth. "It's complicated. I'll tell you, but not now, OK? Let's order lunch?"

She wanted to apologize; instead she only nodded, following him the last couple feet to the counter. Ugh. She shouldn't have said anything. Should have let him tell her when he was ready. He was more forthcoming when he volunteered the information freely instead of when she asked directly.

"Hey, Kai. Who's your friend?"

Kai was leaning on the top of the deli case, talking to a middle-aged woman behind the counter. She was tall, broad shouldered, with brown hair cropped close to her head. Her face was stern, yet friendly.

Kai glanced over at Renee. "Nancy, this is Renee. Renee, Nancy. She owns the place."

Renee waved and managed a polite smile, but Nancy's attention was on Kai, almost as if Renee weren't there.

"How you been doing? You look good. Seem to be walking, well, too. You know Nate and I prayed for you every day."

Kai's eyes darted toward Renee for a split second before returning to Nancy. "Hope I didn’t ruin your chances for getting your prayers for winning the lottery answered."

Nancy hesitated a moment, then grinned. She waved a hand at him. "You always did have more of a sense of humor than your brother. How is he, anyway?"

"Same. Working too much."

Nancy clicked her tongue and turned her attention to the register. "The usual?"

Kai nodded.

Nancy entered his order into the register. "How you two know each other?"

"School." Renee was a little relieved to see Kai's sparsity of responses wasn't anything personal on her behalf.

"We have several classes together," Renee added, trying to join the conversation.

"And how is that going for you? You don't think it's too soon?" Nancy seemed to be ignoring Renee, and had momentarily turned from the register to pour hot water into an insulated cup.

"Nancy," Kai said.

Renee was amazed how it could seem like a warning and yet neither his tone nor face seemed menacing. His smile was still there, his body still relaxed. Although she could see tension in his shoulders despite the loose fabric. Everything Nancy had said so far seemed to give credence to Renee's accident hypothesis. Then she remembered Art saying something about Kai's parents. And Kai saying it was just him and his brother, then immediately freezing up. Had his parents been killed in the accident, and Kai hurt? If so, it couldn't have been too long ago if Nancy was thinking it was "too soon" for school. Or she could be totally wrong.

Renee jumped when she felt Kai's hand lightly touch her shoulder.

He frowned remorsefully, as if he were deeply sorry to have startled her. It was odd, yet made a warmth bubble up inside her anyway.

"What do you want to order?" He was looking at her, eyes brilliant, unreadable blue.

"Oh. Um. I thought I'd try the chicken salad sandwich. And a coffee, plenty of milk." Renee found herself unable to look away from Kai's gaze. She didn't even want to blink. What was it about him? It was more than his height or hair or eyes or anything superficial like that. It was like he was a code, waiting to be solved, and she wanted desperately to be the one to decipher him. To be the one he let down his walls for.

"Sure thing. Anything else?"

"Two bottled waters," Kai said. "Renee?"

She forced herself to blink. "No, I'm good," she said, smiling, then blushing. "I'm . . ." She suddenly felt a need to splash cold water on her face. "Where's the restroom?"

Nancy pointed toward the back and totaled their order. "Let's call it $20 even," she said.

Kai had already pulled his wallet out. "Nance . . ."

"It's my restaurant, and if I say it's twenty--even--that's what it is."

Kai sighed and handed her a single bill. "Go ahead," he said to Renee, who was rooted in place. "I'll get the drinks, and Nancy'll bring us the rest." He smiled at her, soft and warm, the expression only just piercing the fortress of his eyes.

It made her smile back, and so she forced herself to leave him, heading toward the back of the restaurant.

* * *

Jon strode out of the hall leading to the exam rooms, stethoscope dangling around his neck, patient folder under one arm. He headed for the front desk, where Vicky Smith, the pulmonary section's outpatient clinical office manager, was sitting, reading a novel. 

A nurse by training, it hadn't been long until Vicky had discovered she vastly preferred administration to nursing. Vicky had been making sure the clinic ran smoothly since before Jon had arrived back in Jonesville for the beginning of his dual fellowship program. And was also one of the few who put up with Jon's obsessive neuroticism, serving as receptionist and as-needed nurse for him on days like today, when everyone else in the clinic took off. Vicky was tall, with a narrow frame and waist-length, straight brown hair she rarely styled, letting its thickness rest against her back.

"Hey, Vic, order me another oximeter. Bill it to me personally."

Vicky made a note on a post-it. "First thing tomorrow. Let me guess: you gave yours away. _Again_."

Jon handed her the file and leaned on the top of the counter. "Single working mother. Couldn't afford one. And tracking oxygen saturation is important. I'm trying to see if I can get a study running to determine if sats are more accurate predictors of exacerbations in FS than peak flow."

"God, I love it when you talk doctor to me," Vicky said in a teasingly mocking tone.

Jon rolled his eyes, but grinned. Then he sighed and massaged the bridge of his nose. "How much time do I have before my next patient?" He checked his watch. 12:44.

"You need to check your sugar?"

Jon nodded, pulled his stethoscope off and folded it, stuffing it into one of his bottom pockets. "Probably eat, too. And get some coffee."

"You know, you might actually sleep if you drank less caffeine."

Jon shrugged. "Still wouldn't sleep. At least it keeps me alert. Tell me I have at least 15 minutes."

"Even better. 30. Which means you have enough time for an actual meal." She raised an eyebrow at him.

"You sound like my brother," Jon sighed.

"How is he, by the way?" Vicky asked, snagging her purse from under the desk and standing.

Jon sighed and pulled a hand through his hair. "Living out the teenage rebellion he didn't get to experience before."

Vicky pulled her purse onto a shoulder and walked around Jon, through the waiting room. He followed. "Drugs, sex, rock 'n' roll?"

Jon laughed wearily. "Something like that." They walked together out of the clinic, down the hall toward the elevators. "You know what he said to me the other day? That he didn't need a father."

Vicky laughed as she leaned forward and pressed the elevator call button. "I've only known you five years, but you are a bit '30, going on 60,' so not sure I can blame him." She bumped her hip against him playfully and flashed him a grin. "Come on. Let me buy you lunch."

* * *

Waiting for Renee, Kai sipped his tea and frowned. He hadn't felt motivated to add his usual honey, settling for a few packets of raw sugar instead. So it didn't taste the same: bitter, rather than sweet. 

He knew he'd been lucky that Jon wasn't on-call this weekend. Because if he had been, the fellow who treated him in the ER would have spoken to Jon, wanting advice on the unusual and bewildering case. Even without his name, just from the quick presentation of the patient, Jon would have known it was Kai. 22-year-old white male, double-lung transplant, FS. _That's my brother_. As it was, Kai knew he wouldn't be able to hide it long. Especially if it wasn't an isolated incident. Kai shook his head, holding back a bitter laugh. So much for not hiding anymore.

Jon had left early, before Kai's alarm had roused him from a heavy sleep at seven so he could take his morning meds. After that, Kai had crawled back into bed, sleeping until his alarm woke him again a few hours later, his stomach achy and nauseous from taking the drugs without eating. Kai was better, but he hadn't felt like this in months. And he was desperately trying not to worry. Both about what the attack could mean, and that he'd have another one. Because if stress had played a factor, worrying wasn't going to help.

And if the faint pain below his sternum--which he hoped eating would solve--wasn't enough, there was Renee. Whom it was getting harder to keep the truth from. And he didn't want to snap at her. But today, of all days, he just wanted to be with her. To just enjoy her company, a guy and a girl who liked each other, studying history. 

Ugh. History. 

He still wasn't sure what to do about Nikki. She could have let the ambulance go; she didn't need to ride along. She hadn't needed to stay, waiting hours in the waiting room. She hadn't needed to take off work for him, or bring him his clothes and chair, or bring him back to her bed because he didn't want to go home and risk facing his brother. But she had. She had even made him lunch. Even though she hadn't pleaded with him, it felt wrong somehow to just sever things completely. But what about Renee? Was he being fair to her if he kept seeing Nikki?

"You OK?" Renee took her seat across from him, frowning, eyes wide and soft with concern.

Kai wiped a hand over his face, as if he could use it to clear the pained expression that had worried Renee. "Yeah, fine. Just worrying about how I'm going to remember all this stuff."

She smiled sweetly. "It's all right. I'll help you. We can start with history, if you like. We'll figure out what works for you."

He cradled the back of his neck and smiled genuinely. "Thanks, Re,” he said, clipping her name so it sounded like “ray.”

She beamed. "I like it when you call me that."

He frowned, uncertain what she meant. "Huh? Did I mention my short-term memory isn't so great?"

"You called me 'Re.'"

"Oh, I . . ." He flushed. She realized he was cute when he did.

"I told you; I like it." She pulled out her book and notes. "How much have you gotten a chance to read?"

He leaned back, looking sheepish. "Not much."

"That's OK," she said with a sweet smile. "We can focus on the review questions, and it'll give us something to concentrate on." Renee tapped her fingers on a line of text. "What are the characteristics of a civilization?"

Kai stared at his open textbook, as if expecting it to speak the answer. Finally, he sighed and shook his head.

"That's OK. Why don't you see if you can find the answer? Either in the book or the copy of my notes I gave you?"

Kai pulled the crumpled papers from the back of the book, smoothed them out with his hands. "You probably think I'm a slacker," he mumbled. "Or an idiot."

Renee frowned, leaned forward to lay her hand on his. His skin was rough, maybe dry from the chlorine she'd smelled earlier. "No. Of course not." She hesitated. "You've just been through a lot."

His face paled for a moment, eyes wide, before he forced himself to neutrality. "You've been talking to Art."

Renee took her hand back and pulled a few wide-spaced fingers carefully through her curls. "Are you mad?"

He sighed, then looked at her. His expression was completely unreadable. "I figured you would ask him about me." Kai smiled, but it was tight, pained. He sat up straighter, working his fingers into his lower back, as if it ached.

"He didn't really tell me anything. Said I had to ask you."

Kai's entire body seemed to relax. "That's Art." A weak smile appeared on his face.

"So?"

"So?" He dropped his attention back to the notes.

"You're not going to enlighten me?" She tried to make her voice light, teasing, flirtatious.

He didn't look up. "My life story isn't exactly first-date material."

Renee's stomach knotted brutally. Did that mean he considered this a date? Or was it simply a convenient expression? It suddenly felt hard to breathe, and she was enormously grateful he seemed so focused on the notes. Right now, she wasn't sure if she could stand a direct gaze from those eyes, two blue bottomless pools.

Thankfully, Nancy finally appeared with their food. "Sorry it took so long," she said, seemingly to Kai. "Sorting out a mix-up with one of our big catering orders." She set the plate with a gigantic, over-stuffed sandwich in front of Renee. "Chicken salad." Then she set a plate and cup of soup off to Kai's side, since his book dominated the table in front of him. "Veggie sandwich and potato soup." 

Kai looked up, pushed some hair out of his face, smiled tiredly. "Thanks, Nance."

She pulled silverware out of the pocket of her apron. They clattered on the wood as they spilled onto the table. "I'll be right back with some more tea and coffee."

Renee watched as Kai picked up a spoon, and, elbow propped on his open book, began to stir his soup. First clockwise, then he'd reverse direction, back and forth, one way, then the other, staring at the broth, but not looking terribly intent on eating it.

Renee feared she'd messed up. Again. She swallowed, tried to keep her voice lighthearted. "You struck me more as the roast beef and chili type."

He looked up at her, a single eyebrow raised, still holding his spoon lazily in one hand. Liquid dropped off the tip into the bowl. "I don't eat meat anymore."

She studied him. "Herbal tea, vegetarian. Is your deep, dark secret that you're actually a closeted hippie?"

A smile peeled across his face. He chuckled, his eyes sparkling, brightening for the first time that afternoon. "Not exactly."

Renee attempted to cut her sandwich into quarters. "My maw maw would be appalled. She doesn't think a dish, let alone a meal, is complete without meat." She stopped what she was doing and jerked her head up, looking apologetic. "Sorry. I didn't mean to offend."

He scowled deeply, set down his spoon. "I do have PETA on speed dial. . . . But I guess I can give you a pass this once." His face transformed. She'd never seen anyone with so many variations on a simple smile. From what she'd seen in the short time she'd known him, it was likely he had dozens of grins. She wanted to see them, know them all. This one was simple, sweet, and seemed to lift the weariness in his eyes, like sun burning off fog.

He spooned some soup into his mouth, did some of that sexy lip licking, tongue searching out any final drops that may have caught on his lips. "I don't drink coffee, either, but I'm not going to chew you out if you do. It's OK."

Renee relaxed, took a bite of her sandwich and couldn't stifle a moan. She wasn't sure if it was the best chicken salad in the Midwest, but it was definitely the best she'd ever had.

He laughed a little harder, and his smile sweetened. Genuine. This was Kai relaxed, enjoying himself. Whatever had happened, whatever demons loomed behind the mask he normally kept firmly in place, they were gone. Maybe only for this fleeting moment, but it was one she would enjoy as long as it lasted.

* * *

Jon placed his glucose monitor back in its case and zipped it closed. Vicky watched absently, sipping her diet Coke. 

They sat across from each other in the back of the main Jonesville Memorial cafeteria. Vicky had gotten a salad; Jon had opted for a grilled chicken breast and steamed vegetables. The food wasn't gourmet, but it actually wasn't bad. Vicky concentrated on mixing up her salad.

"Kai’s good influence is rubbing off on you."

He shrugged. "Sometimes I wonder: who makes the worst patient? The recently diagnosed, because they're still in denial, don't know how to handle their disease? Or the one who's lived a long time with their condition, become complacent or simply tired?"

Vicky frowned at her lettuce. Jon was prone to hypothetical musings like this one, most of which didn't necessarily demand a response.

"Can I ask you something?"

Jon shrugged, popped a broccoli in his mouth.

"Do you ever shut off?"

Jon's face shifted from serious, to annoyed, to amused. He swallowed carefully, a slight smile gracing his face. "Not really. I'm a regular Energizer Bunny." Was that a double entendre? Jon was rarely jovial, so serious and focused all the time. It was nice to see him smile.

"Listen, this friend of mine has a birthday party weekend after next. It's a costume party. Come with me. It'll be fun."

Jon nearly choked. He took a few gulps of his coffee. "You obviously don't know me."

"I do." Vicky stabbed several pieces of lettuce, then pointed her fork at him. "But that doesn't mean I don't think you shouldn't come out of your shell."

Jon frowned, carded his fingers through his hair, then shook the strands, almost as if he were trying to dry it. "Vic--"

"Just as friends. I'll even pick out your costume, so you don't have to worry about it."

Jon focused on cutting his chicken. "I might be on-call that weekend. I'd have to check my schedule."

"Unless you're on shift that weekend, you can still come to the party. Just bring your pager and a cell phone."

Jon sighed heavily, smoothed a hand over his hair, making up for the mess he'd made of it earlier. "All right. Fine. But I'm not dressing up. Halloween isn't till the end of October, anyway."

Vicky chewed and swallowed before smiling. "Don't worry. I'll make sure it's something sexy. All the women will be fawning over you all night. Trust me. You'll thank me." She grinned, a mixture of triumph and cunning, sipping her drink.

"Fine," Jon said, shoulders hunched. "But I reserve the right of first refusal. I am not a silly person." His lips were drawn tight, but she saw a subtle sparkle in his grey eyes.

"All right. Serious costumes only for you. Does that mean I can go as ridiculous and embarrassing as possible for mine? Like . . . Vegas Showgirl. Or Xena Warrior Princess. Or Elvira."

Jon blushed. He actually blushed. And Vicky couldn't help laughing.

* * *

Renee had helped Kai review the key material from the first few chapters of their history text, and he was beginning to feel more confident. She had noticed his remark about short-term memory issues was more than just an off-handed joke, but she'd quickly realized if he could find a way to visualize the information, he processed and remembered more easily. It also eased his frustration, and he'd relax. She found she liked seeing Kai relaxed. They were winding down when Kai's phone rang.

"Crap," he said, staring at the display. "I guess I didn't hear it ring earlier. Is I OK if I . . . ?" He gestured with the phone, which continued to ring in his hand.

"Go ahead," she said with a nod and a smile, packing up her books and notes.

Kai grinned at her and answered the phone. "Hey. Sorry, I was studying."

Renee tried not to eavesdrop, but the voice on the other end was loud enough for her to catch most of the conversation. 

"It's OK. I called whenever I had a minute to come up for air. The diner's been a madhouse today; I just wanted to make sure you were OK."

Renee concentrated on meticulously repacking her bag, as if everything needed to be done in a particular way. But she couldn't help the jealously and disappointment that flared from hearing the concerned female voice on the other end of Kai's phone conversation. She already knew Kai didn't have any family other than his brother, so unless Kai's brother had undergone some serious hormone therapy, the voice had to belong to his girlfriend. The one she'd feared he'd had from the beginning, but which she'd desperately hoped he didn't. So much for his date reference. Disappointed, she realized she had been right all along. She was just someone to help him pass his core classes; nothing more.

"Yeah, I'm fine," Kai was saying, smiling at Renee. She vaguely had the impression she'd zoned out for part of the conversation and was catching Kai repeating himself.

"OK, good. God, I probably sound like a clingy, psycho girlfriend," the voice said. Yep, no denying it now. Renee sighed sadly, grateful Kai was too caught up in the conversation to notice.

He frowned, looked away from Renee, lowered his voice. "I know you had to have been scared and worried. I'm sorry. I'll try to drop by the diner tomorrow."

He finished his call, tossed his phone aside, and gripped the back of his neck.

"Sorry about that. Thanks for helping me today; I really appreciate it."

He looked at her with such genuine gratitude and happiness, pure and unfiltered, a true gift from him, who kept himself masked and hidden. She could almost forget he'd just been on the phone with his girlfriend.

"Are you parked far? If it's close, I'll walk you to your car." Kai started to push himself up, but his face paled, and he seemed to change his mind. He dipped his head to hide his face, but she saw his hands gripped the wood of the table tightly, knuckles white. After a moment, he looked up, smiling, but the gates had closed, the drawbridge retracted. "Sorry. I just remembered Nancy asked me to help her with a few things as a thanks for letting us hang out here all afternoon."

Renee opened her mouth to protest, but he held up his hand to stop her.

"It's all right. If I didn't see you again the rest of the semester, I would still be grateful for today." His smile softened. "Not that I don't want to see you again."

Ugh. Talk about mixed signals. Did his girlfriend know he was blatantly flirting with another woman?"

"Uh, I guess I'll see you in class then. Thanks for lunch." She shouldered her bag. "If you ever reconsider the vegetarian thing, you should give the chicken salad a try." She winked, then flushed, embarrassed. Disappointment hung heavy from her heart. "Can I ask you something?"

He shrugged. 

"Art said your name was Taylor. Why did you change it?"

Kai's warm expression evaporated, his face growing stony. He almost looked ill. It took him longer than normal to recover, shifting into the placid mask of neutrality he normally wore. "I don't talk about that," he said in a tone she couldn't determine. "My name is Fox now. Please don't ask about it again."

Renee was so surprised, she took a step back. His reaction was unlike any she'd seen from him so far. Even when she'd asked about his family or his leg, he'd been clipped and evasive at worst. This reaction was outright hostile. And whereas he'd offered to talk about his leg at some point, his name was clearly earmarked as taboo. What had happened to him that made him change his name and react so viscerally when she innocently asked about it?

He seemed to come to himself, pushing himself up after all and locking his leg, approaching her with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Re," he said. She wasn't sure if his use of the diminutive was intentional, to emphasize his candor. He hesitantly reached for her hand, waiting for her to yield to him before nestling it in his palm. "I know you don't know much about me. I want to give you the chance to learn, but . . ." He hesitated, staring at their fingers. It was almost impossible for her to be angry at him when his skin touched hers, even in a chaste gesture such as this.

Kai pulled away, sinking down so he perched on the edge of the table, his left leg straight, his right, slightly bent. He kept his gaze lowered as he spoke. "My parents were killed when I was six." He looked up briefly, holding up a hand to stop her, as if he knew she was going to interrupt. "It's OK; I don't really remember them." He sighed, cradled his neck, a habit she was beginning to realize he did when he was unsure or anxious. "I grew up in a group home," he said softly.

Renee sunk down onto the table beside him. Since she was so much shorter, she rested her feet on the bench. "You weren't adopted?"

He tilted his head, hesitating, before finally shaking it. "People want babies. Not. . . ." He bit his lip. "Nobody wanted me." His words were so faint, she barely caught them.

"Oh, Kai, I had no idea." She placed a hand on his shoulder, realizing the muscles were like steel under the loose confines of his shirt.

"Told you, not first-date conversation." He attempted a faint smile, but failed. With a sigh, he pushed some hair off his face. "I don't talk about my past much. Period. With anyone. So just . . . don't take it personally."

He turned to face her, his eyes beautiful cerulean. She suddenly had an overwhelming desire to kiss him. She didn't care that he had a girlfriend. Those eyes seemed to pull her in--filled with so much emotion she couldn't begin to parse it all out. Sadness, fear, anxiety, vulnerability, hope, longing, pain. It was too soon, she knew, as she felt herself drawing closer, their lips near enough to taste each others' breath.

Their eyes closed, lips grazed, and they kissed. She honestly wasn't sure whose lips met whose first, but they pressed together, and his tongue teased, begging for entrance. She opened happily, her mind shut down, not thinking of consequence or logic, simply melting into the moment. He reached up and cradled her cheek, taking control, kissing with a hunger and a desperation that surprised her. He consumed her, tongue licking alongside hers, sucking gently on its tip, pulling her closer. Yet, at the same time, he was tender, not brutal. His kiss transported Renee onto another plane, her entire body buzzing, a lightness filling her unlike any she'd experienced before. It was almost as if, in this kiss, they were no longer their separate selves, but an entirely new entity, linked by lips and passion.

Finally, he pulled back, with difficulty, as if their lips were magnets struggling to separate. His hand still cupped her face, his eyes soft, looking transformed somehow. He breathed raggedly and heavily, and her own eyes felt misty, glazed over. She struggled to come back to herself, blinking a few times. Neither of them seemed capable of speech.

"Wow. . . . If that's how you thank me for one study session, I'd love to see what I get after I help you cram for the final." Renee laughed through her blush.

"Oh, God, Re," he said, his voice a breath, as he smoothed a curl through two fingers, brushing her cheek with the back of his thumb. His eyes had shifted yet again, unreadable, _full_ , and she wished she knew what they were saying. 

"I . . . should go," Renee managed to stammer.

"I'm sorry," he said, pulling away, shutting down.

She stood, stepped over his legs so she was facing him, close. She nudged his chin up with her fingers. "No. It's OK." She chuckled. "That was more than OK. But I have some things to do before my roommate gets back." She picked up one of his hands and squeezed it. "We'll talk later." Flashing a warm smile, and still buoyed by the taste of his tongue, she forced herself to turn and leave.

* * *

"You're in a good mood," Jon said, entering the kitchen. He'd discarded his tie, white coat, and briefcase, and crossed to the drawer where he kept his glucose monitor. He glanced over to where Kai stood, one hand braced on the counter, adding various spices to a bowl. "I take it the study session went well?"

Kai glanced over his shoulder and grinned.

"That good, huh?" Jon pricked his finger with the lancet and squeezed some blood onto the test strip. "Is she going to help you pass history, or just sex ed?" Jon chuckled.

Kai stopped what he was doing, both hands gripping the counter now. He took a deep breath before turning his head enough to look at Jon. "Speaking of good moods . . . ?" He raised an eyebrow.

Jon held his meter in one hand, waiting for the reading. He couldn't help smiling. "I think I have a date."

"That's great," Kai said, his voice clipped. Supporting himself with one hand on the countertop, he reached for a mixing spoon. Jon heard Kai’s breath hitch, saw his forearm tense. "Wait. What do you mean 'you think'?" Jon listened carefully to Kai’s voice, but it seemed normal enough, watching as his brother stirred everything together, coating the chickpeas with spices.

Jon noticed the oven was preheating and Kai had set a cookie sheet on the stove top. He put his meter back in the drawer and grabbed the foil, gesturing with it. Kai nodded, so he began covering it as he spoke.

"Vicky asked me to go to a party with her."

"Vicky. As in, pulm section office manager, Vicky?"

Jon nodded, a slight blush pinking his cheeks. Jon was surprised when Kai merely smiled, rather than laughing.

"I always thought she had a thing for you. Poor woman." Kai accepted the tray from his brother and sprayed it with Pam. Jon observed Kai moved stiffly, cautiously, despite his joviality.

"Funny. Can I do something?"

As soon as Kai set the cookie sheet back on the stovetop, he resumed his earlier posture, gripping the counter, shoulders tensed. Jon’s eyes scanned down, surprised to see Kai's right leg bent at the knee. Kai rarely favored his left leg, and alarm flags that Jon had struggled to suppress began to fly.

"Yeah. I'm making chickpea tacos.” Kai’s knuckles whitened, his sentences clipped. “If you want . . . to chop . . . some lettuce . . . and tomatoes . . ."

Jon resisted the urge to say anything, shuffling to the fridge and grabbing the produce. "It's a costume party, if you can believe it."

This time, Kai laughed a controlled chuckle and released his deathgrip on the counter. Maybe he was just tired, Jon reasoned, watching as Kai spooned the legumes onto the cookie sheet.

"Now _that_ I can't wait to see. You should go as a pill. It'd be fitting on many levels."

"And aren't you a comedian." Jon shook the lettuce off in the sink, water dripping. Then he grabbed a cutting board. "Hand me a knife?"

Kai again braced himself with one hand on the counter while he stretched to pull a knife from the block. He grimaced, paused, before handing the knife to his brother.

"You OK?" Jon took it, but focused on Kai, who was trying to keep his face neutral and not succeeding very well. Jon could see Kai's hands clenched on the counter's edge.

Kai's head was bowed, his eyes tightly shut. He took a few slow, careful breaths. “I’m fine,” Kai said through clenched teeth, but his grip grew tighter, and he didn’t open his eyes. He tried to shift his weight; looked for a moment like he was going to lose his balance, let out a muffled, indistinct sound before taking a few more cautious breaths.

Jon set the knife down. “Kai, you’re not fine.”

Kai didn’t answer immediately. He was holding himself as still as he could, although he still wavered slightly, his forearms tensing. Finally, he shook his head.

Jon set the knife down. "Spasms?"

Kai sucked in a breath, lifted his head. A slight nod. "I . . ." Kai's voice cut off. Jon could see his brother had shifted so he leaned even more heavily on the counter, as if he were trying to bear as much of his weight as possible with his upper body. His right knee remained partially bent, his foot pointed. Jon couldn't tell, but he suspected Kai's right posterior thigh and calf muscles were spasming.

Kai’s face contorted, his jaw tensing. Despite his best efforts, quiet grunts escaped his lips. Either the pain had lasted long enough it was chipping away his defenses, or the spasms were getting worse.

"Kai, I can finish this, if . . ."

Kai finally looked at Jon, his eyes wide, his face pale and strained. “I thought . . .” He paused, took a few quick, shallow breaths. “. . . I could work through it.”

Jon glanced at the tray of their half-prepped dinner and realized Kai had hoped to beat the pain by keeping busy; obviously, he’d misjudged the severity of the attack. “Kai--”

"Jon," Kai said suddenly through gritted teeth. “I need to take my braces off, now." Kai’s previously steady voice broke. His face was flushed, sweat standing out on his forehead. "My left hamstrings feel like they're trying to rip off the bone." Pain colored his words, his breathing labored.

Kai kept his left brace locked. If his hamstrings were spasming severely enough--trying to bend his knee--the orthotic could break, or the muscles or tendon could tear. And because Kai's right was also spasming, unlocking the left would make it impossible for Kai to stay upright. 

"I'll get your chair."

* * *

Oh, fuck, he hurt. This wasn't a mild attack, or even a moderate one. All the stress of the past few days had built up. Kai had to get off his feet, had to unlock his left knee. Carefully, he lowered himself to the floor, the muscles in his feet and calves twitching. Immediately, he reached over to release the lock on his left brace, his leg pulling up, knee bent, as if the lock had been a spring under pressure and all the energy released at once. Kai bit back a scream, sweat breaking out on his forehead.

Kai's body, from his mid back to his toes, hurt, pain flaring up as a muscle would spasm, sometimes relaxing and giving him a moment's relief. Mostly they'd stayed taunt, as if the various muscle fibers were competing to see who could tense the most and longest. Like some twisted, painful variation on a staring contest. Although Jon was likely only gone a minute or two, the waiting was literal agony, and Kai hated that he had to rely on his brother. It was partially his own fault, he knew; the early warning signs of an attack had been there all afternoon, but he'd ignored them. And now he was paying for it. 

He clenched his teeth as the spasms in the back of both legs intensified. Hoping for some relief, Kai worked his left hand under his left thigh, pressing up, struggling to rub away some of the pain through the denim of his jeans and the leather backing of his brace. A pulling pain in his right knee distracted him. Already, it seemed, his quads were battling with his hamstrings, straining the tendons and ligaments of his knee joint. It felt like his kneecap was going to rip off, the muscles around his knee tensing to their limit, then partially relaxing, before tensing again. Each time, the contractions grew worse: tighter, holding longer, the reprieves shorter.

Jon reappeared, pushing Kai's chair. "I brought your MR," Jon said, frowning at Kai's position on the floor, offering him some pills.

"Already did," Kai said, leaning his head back against the cabinet, not wanting to say more.

Jon nodded, shoved the pills in his pocket. Without another word, Jon maneuvered Kai's wheelchair closer and set the brake.

Kai's glutes had joined the pain parade, making shifting from his current position even less appealing, But he desperately wanted to go to his room so he could take his braces off, try to massage the worst of the spasms away and hope the sedative effect of the meds kicked in and knocked him out before things got much worse.

* * *

"Looks like you had a better weekend than me," Diane said, dumping her bag on the floor and sinking into the couch with a groan. "Remind me again why I go home?"

Renee was still buzzing from her afternoon with Kai, eager to discuss it with her roomie. But she knew Diane had a love-hate relationship with her family, and often came back from her visits more stressed than when she'd left.

"You love them?" Renee attempted, curling up next to Diane and offering her a sideways hug.

Diane sank into the embrace, resting her head on Renee's shoulder. "So. Tell me why you're particularly effervescent this evening."

Renee giggled and shifted so she faced Diane, practically bouncing on her knees, her legs tucked under her. "He kissed me."

"What?" Diane sat up. "Hot blond? 'He's completely out of my league, but I'll moon over him anyway'? I thought you said he had a girlfriend."

Renee deflated. She'd managed to forget the phone call, focusing on the feel of his lips against hers, but Diane was right. "I think he does."

Diane's eyebrows dipped, growing angry. "So, what, he thinks you'll just give it up for him and be a nice piece of ass he can enjoy on the side? You said you weren't going to do the asshole guy thing again."

Renee sighed, but she smiled despite herself, fingertips touching her lips. "I don't think he is, though. I think . . . I don't know the whole story, but I think. . . ." Renee looked at Diane, trying to convey through her eyes what she couldn't seem to find words for. "When he kissed me . . . it was like I was the only woman in the world. It was . . . incredible."

Diane sighed. "So he's a good kisser. Probably has had lots of practice," Diane muttered.

Renee pouted. "I have a good feeling about Kai."

"And I bet you felt the same way about Jude when you first met him. Or that guy from freshman year, what was his name?"

"Mark," Renee said reluctantly. "This is different, though."

Diane pushed herself to her feet, yawning. "Think I'll crash." She bent for her bag. "Just . . . be careful, OK? I don't want you hurt because some dreamy player ensnared you in his web. And I don't care how big he is: I'll kick his ass if he uses you."

* * *

Kai opened his eyes slowly, with a grunt. He lay on his right side, back to the wall, curled up in an almost fetal position. His legs refused to relax, and as consciousness returned, so did the pain, slamming into him like a freight train. He groaned again before he realized he wasn't alone. Jon sat in a chair beside Kai's bed, a medical journal open in his lap. His face was lined with worry and concern. As soon as Jon realized his brother was awake, he lay a cautious hand on Kai's arm.

"It's OK, Kai. I'm here."

Kai tried to reach down to his toes to hopefully stretch them out of the position in which they were locked, which felt like someone was trying to pull them off his body. It was as if an invisible hand held them in a firm grip, flexed up or down, and was straining with all its strength to rend flesh from bone. But Kai couldn't reach, not without bending, and his locked back and hip muscles wouldn't allow it. The little movement he could manage was dizzyingly painful, and after a few attempts, seeing stars, Kai had to give up. He struggled to breathe, not easy with his tight back, so he settled for short, quick, shallow breaths.

Kai felt Jon's hands on one foot, trying to work out some of the tension. When he spoke, his voice was apologetic. "I tried to massage out the hypertonia while you slept, but . . . I couldn't. Not without risking injury. I'm sorry. How bad is the pain?"

Kai didn't answer. He felt nauseated, whether from the pain, or the drugs, or an empty stomach, he wasn't sure. He had to remind himself to breathe, even though not doing so meant a slight reprieve from some of the pain. His eyes drifted closed. Jon stroked Kai's arm soothingly.

"I know it hurts, but you need to breathe," Jon said in a soft voice.

Kai concentrated on taking slow, deep breaths. Breathing this way was less painful than trying to breathe normally, and less risky than the near hyperventilation of earlier.

"More MR?"

Jon sighed heavily and smoothed some of Kai's hair out of his face, where it had stuck, plastered with sweat. "It's only been two hours, and your breathing isn't great as-is. I can't risk it."

Kai forced his eyes open to meet his brother's gaze. Jon looked helpless and heartbroken, and Kai realized his brother had never seen his MLS this bad. It didn't often exacerbate this severely, thankfully, but Kai had been stressing about so much lately, it was honestly a miracle it hadn't happened sooner. 

Kai said nothing. His hips ached all the way down to the bone, as if pain radiated up from the marrow, the tiny tendons and ligaments inside his pelvis stretched and angry. He took in as deep a breath as he could, braced his left hip with one hand, and pressed tentatively on his thigh. 

_Fuck_. 

He had to clench his teeth hard to stifle a scream. His leg wasn't going anywhere; Jon hadn't lied about that. Kai closed his eyes, concentrated on breathing through the pain that seemed to hum through his left leg. Two hours until he could have another dose. That seemed like an eternity. Reflexively, he moaned. Jon took his hand and squeezed it supportively.

"If the pain is . . ." Jon hesitated. "We could go to the hospital. They have more powerful muscle relaxants and analgesics, and they can give you respiratory support if you need it. . . ."

"You're such a doctor sometimes," Kai said, trying for levity, but pain leaked into his voice. The truth was, he wanted the pain to remit, for his muscles to relax, but he didn't want another trip to the ER. He didn't want to be intubated, either, which he knew they would do if they had to give him the strong, full-body paralytic muscle relaxants normally used for surgical anesthesia, the only meds that worked when his MLS got this bad. Although the reality was, once his muscles locked like this, only time and physically massaging them loose could do the trick. The main issue was pain. Could he wait until he could take another dose of meds that would knock him out? Could he bear the agony of trying to manually relax his muscles?

Kai opened his eyes and met his brother's frown, realizing his breathing had become irregular again.

"If you won't let me take you to the hospital, then I should call your neurologist."

Kai wanted to protest, but could see in Jon's face that his brother needed to do _something_. If calling would make Jon relax, then so be it. And it'd give Kai some time alone, hopefully, to try to stretch out anything he could bear to.

"OK. Help me sit up." Although Kai knew he could manage without Jon, it would make his brother feel useful and probably be less painful this way. "My back against the wall."

Kai took a few steadying breaths, then offered Jon his hand. Pushing with his right hand against the bed, and tugging his left through Jon's grip, Kai pulled himself into the semblance of a seated position, withholding a grunt as his back complained from the shift. His legs were still folded, but gravity pushed them down slightly, his hips screaming in complaint and making him pant with pain. Dizziness washed over him suddenly, and he had to use his hands to prop himself up. He clenched his eyes shut.

"Kai?" Jon said, alarmed.

Kai focused, calmed his breathing, tried to let his body relax into its new position as much as possible. Now that he was upright, he found himself clinging to consciousness, the pain in his back, hips, and legs threatening to overwhelm him. Nausea hovered in the back of his throat. He vaguely felt the mattress dip, and a hand stroking his arm.

"It'll be 'K, K," Jon said. 

Kai let his head fall back against the wall and cautiously opened his eyes. He still felt off, but the pain had subsided enough that he was no longer on the brink of passing out. Jon's hand moved over his and he let his brother grip him supportively.

"Has it ever been this bad?" Jon's voice was a cracked whisper.

Kai focused on taking slow, regular breaths. "Yes. Not in a long time, but. . . . When I was in high school . . ." Kai hesitated. "It happened enough my neuro put me on Mexitil."

Jon squeezed Kai's hand, his brows furrowed. "Isn't that an antiarrhythmic?"

"Yeah, but it also works on skeletal muscle." Kai sighed, then groaned as the expansion of his chest tweaked his taunt back muscles. He managed to reach his right foot and start working his fingers on his toes, trying to relieve the tension there.

"Hmm. It decreases action potential duration, making it harder for the muscle to sustain the contraction. So your muscles relax more easily, and it's more difficult for myotonia to set in. Would prevent tetanization," Jon muttered to himself. "Did it work?"

Kai gritted his teeth as he managed to free his index toe from its locked state. "Yeah. Kept my legs from locking up like this." Kai hissed as he shifted to another toe, kneading the flesh of the base of his toes with his fingers, trying to loosen the taunt muscles.

"If it helped, why did you stop taking it?"

Kai sighed. "The side effects. I took it a couple years, then decided I’d rather deal with the pain." Kai closed his eyes, remembering. He’d gained twenty pounds after coming off the drug, because it had caused such severe nausea he’d barely been able to keep anything down. And he’d needed his crutches less, too, since he no longer had the dizziness and coordination problems the Mexitil caused. Or the constant juggling of his theophylline dose, which left him in a constant swing between frequent attacks and the near-overdose that sent his heart racing terrifyingly in his chest. Kai smoothed his hand over his foot. Then he braced the ankle, using his other hand to bend the joint, cautiously stretching his tight calf muscles.

Kai found his muscles were beginning to relax as he spoke. They were still tight, and it'd take massage to fully relax everything, but maybe talking, distracting himself, had helped. Or maybe simply enough time had elapsed. Either way, he found he could stretch a little without screaming or passing out, and that was relieving enough.

Jon frowned deeply. "So if I call your neuro, he's going to suggest you go back on Mexitil."

Kai nodded. "If I start having episodes like this often, I'll consider it. But otherwise . . ." Kai carefully set his foot back down and let his head fall back against the wall, his eyes sliding shut. His pain level was still high, and he suddenly realized how exhausted he was. It'd been such a long time since he'd had a severe MLS attack, he'd forgotten that it was more draining than a long workout. Add to the fact that he was still recovering from the other night, and. . . .

The bed shifted again, and he felt Jon's hands on his left ankle. "Can I help?"

Kai nodded slowly. "Start with my right," he said, forcing out the words. The muscles of his left leg still felt strained, as if they were the strings on a guitar, over-tuned and threatening to snap.

Jon obeyed, cautiously stretching Kai's Achilles, trying to loosen the contracted muscle fibers in Kai's calf. "I'm sorry," Jon said as he worked. 

"For what? Last time I checked, you didn’t make my muscles lock," Kai said, his voice strained. He forced his eyes open, hoping Jon would see the joke in them, even if he couldn’t seem to manage the effort to put it into his tone or expression.

"Just . . . for everything. For not always being there when you needed me." Jon’s voice was broken, sad.

Kai sighed, but it hitched from pain, and he forced himself to breathe out slowly. "Jon. I'm not going to say this again." He clenched his teeth, working his fingers into the back of his knee. "What happened with Jenny. . . . If you think focusing on your work--on me--is some kind of penance. . . ."

While Jon continued to work on Kai's right leg, Kai carefully kneaded the muscles of his left thigh.

"Go out with Vicky. Have fun with her. Or whomever. Just . . . be happy, Jon." Kai bit back a cry, his eyes beginning to fill as Jon managed to partially stretch Kai's full right leg, his knee remaining only partially bent. "For your own sake." Kai paused to take several shallow breaths. "If . . . when . . . I'm gone, I'd like to know you're happy."

Jon dropped Kai's leg so suddenly Kai screamed. "Sorry," Jon muttered quickly. "What do you mean, ' _When I'm gone'_?!"

Kai's head swam in dizziness, struggling to breathe. Tears escaped his eyes as he cradled his right leg, his hands seeking to soothe the overly stretched hamstrings. His vision darkened on its edges.

"Jon . . ." Kai's eyes shut, but he still felt like he was swaying, unconsciousness tugging at him. His hands fell away, his shoulders sagged, and he let the darkness take him.

* * *

"Fuck, Kai." Jon rushed to ease his brother's slumped form down on the bed, carefully arranging stiff legs. Jon had known the pain had to have been bad, could see and feel the severity of the contracted muscles, but Kai was even better at masking himself than Jon thought, if he'd lost consciousness.

"I'm sorry," Jon whispered, smoothing hair off Kai's face. He realized his brother's clothes were damp with sweat, even though Kai had changed only a couple hours earlier, when he'd removed his orthotics. Jon rose and crossed to the dresser, pulling out a fresh T-shirt and cotton drawstring pants.

Jon couldn't do much, and he hated feeling helpless or useless, but he could get Kai into fresh clothes, maybe stretch him. Hopefully, by the time Kai woke again, he'd feel better. If only marginally so, it was still something. 

Carefully, Jon eased Kai's arms out of his shirt, getting it over his head and tossing it aside. Kai's breathing was low, but even. Jon's eyes were immediately drawn to two healing bruises and scabs on Kai's shoulders. He leaned forward to examine the marks. They had healed well, and were beginning to fade, the ring of scabs clearly indicative of a human bite. Jon frowned. He could imagine how Kai had gotten them. 

Jon used Kai's dirty shirt to dry his skin, taking the opportunity to check the rest of his torso for marks. First, he noticed the bruising on Kai's left wrist, around the rubber band. Jon frowned. He scanned up the rest of Kai's arm, gasping when he saw another healing scab surrounded by bruising in the nook of Kai's left elbow. This mark was fresher than those on his neck. And it was a single scab, looking like it came from a needle, perhaps a 20 gauge.

Jon's stomach clenched, glancing up at Kai's sleeping face. There had to be a perfectly innocent explanation. Maybe Kai had had blood taken recently. Kai certainly didn't tell Jon everything. Maybe he'd had a follow-up with Dr. J or his nephrologist. That had to be it. Post transplant, Kai's life was filled with regular bloodwork, to check for infection, to monitor his kidney and liver function, and to make sure the dosage of his immunosuppressants was still satisfactory.

Still, Jon's stomach churned uneasily. He checked Kai's other arm, grateful to find it unmarred except for the faintest hint of bruising mid-forearm, probably from the cuff of his crutch. Jon pulled his fingers through his hair several times, feeling like his head was spinning. He still heard Kai's words echoing: _when I'm gone_. What had he meant by that? 

Jon knew Kai's body could reject his lungs at any time, that he could develop an opportunistic infection, that five-year survival was 50%; ten, less than 30%. Kai knew this, too. It could be what he meant, but somehow, the way Kai had said it. . . .

Jon's eyes flew to Kai's scars, his fingers searching them for any sign of new wounds. The long line down his sternum, then the less obvious hemicircles below his pecs, then the smaller mark on his abdomen. None were fresh. Perhaps Jon was taking Kai's behavior and transferring his own history on his brother, seeing signs that weren't there.

Kai continued to sleep, so Jon gently slipped the new shirt on him, moving next to Kai's pants. He debated not disturbing Kai's legs, but felt he had to prove his fears unfounded by checking the scars on Kai's thighs. Carefully, slowly, he eased Kai's sweaty pants off, relieved Kai's muscles seemed to be relaxing. Jon might be able to stretch him at last. 

Jon searched out the scars, mostly hidden by the light dusting of golden-brown hair that coated Kai's legs. Jon knew the best place to hide fresh cuts was in old scars, in places no one would see because clothing obscured them. Kai had explained that these marks--when Jon had first asked about them--came from a pair of ill-fitting braces when he was younger. Although Jon was relieved the skin wasn't freshly broken, he began to question the truth of Kai's story. Perhaps, growing up, Kai had found his own way of coping, a method Jon was all-too familiar with. Jon knew what that dark voice was like, how it didn’t respond to logic or reason. It threatened to overwhelm, with seemingly only one way to escape its haunting grasp.

Diagnosis wasn't much different than detective work. You took the clues you had and used them to arrive at your conclusion. It was part science, part skill, and part gut feeling. And although Jon knew he could explain away Kai's behavior, moodiness, and minor injuries individually, experience taught Jon coincidence was an illusion. If a patient came in with seemingly disparate signs and symptoms, it was possible they had several things wrong with them. But more likely, it meant one thing was at the root of it all. 

For some time now, Jon's instinct had been screaming worrying thoughts about his brother. It had taken years for Jon to overcome his own demons; he still battled with guilt on a daily basis, but had managed to substitute work to satisfy the voice. Jon had kept truths from Kai about his own past, about their mother, deciding that sometimes, ignorance was bliss. But maybe it was time for Jon to confront Kai. To tell his brother the truth.


	9. September 8, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai sees his pulmonlogist, who's mystified by Kai's symptoms. Jon expresses his concern about his brother's mental health. Kai finally meets up with Becca and deals with the fall out. Jon hires an ASL tutor. Kai turns to Nikki for help in his crisis. Jon visits his parents grave and we learn of one of the Taylor family secrets that could have significance in Kai's life.

Kai's eyes shot open in the dark of his room, his breath coming in panting gasps, his hair clinging to his head, damp with sweat. He pushed himself up, trying to focus, calm his racing heart and ease his ragged breathing. A quick glance at his alarm clock made him groan. 3:34. The nightmare had woken him, again.

Sunday and Monday nights, Kai had slept decently enough, mostly due to exhaustion and Valium. But every other night since, the same nightmare that had preceded his trip to the ER had returned to strip him, panicked, from sleep. He'd been lucky to manage a couple hours, and three nights of this, plus the lingering effects of both the FS and MLS attacks meant he was exhausted. He'd avoiding taking anything to try to help him sleep; as a general rule Kai didn't take anything sedating or with the potential for addiction any more than he had to.

He snatched his inhaler from the bedside table, shook it, and took two puffs, trying his best to give the medicine time to sink down into his lungs. He'd had recurring nightmares before, when he was young. But never anything like these. The whole experience felt so real, like he was actually buried alive, like he really was suffocating. The terror so visceral and immediate. Every. Single. Time. Kai wasn't even sure if his response was due to his FS, or psychological, an anxiety attack that mimicked the symptoms of suffocation and fear.

His body was beginning to calm, and his breathing came more easily, so he let himself lie back, his eyelids falling closed. So. Tired. He'd been too worn out and in too much residual pain to go to class Tuesday, and as much as he'd wanted to see Renee Wednesday, he knew his legs were still too uncooperative to manage the stairs to the back row. At least his braces had held up. Thanks to Jon, Kai had been able to afford titanium-magnesium alloy uprights for his current KAFOs, which meant they were light, yet strong. So today he'd put them on and attempt his two morning classes. Maybe seeing Renee again would make him feel better. He could still taste her: sweet, faintly of lip gloss and coffee.

He felt himself drifting. Maybe he could snag a couple more hours of sleep before he had to start his day. Maybe.

* * *

Renee’s entire body seemed to ignite when she looked up and saw Kai in his usual seat in the back row of the auditorium. She hurried up the stairs, then decided to slow down and relax her face. She didn’t want to seem too excited to see him, in case Diane was right and he really had meant to blow her off. In case the kiss–which still made her stomach flutter every time she thought about it–hadn’t meant anything to him. In case he thought it was a huge mistake, and was hoping they could go back to the way things were before it happened.

The first thing she noticed as she drew closer was how tired he looked. Slouched instead of sitting up straight, eyes shut, almost as if he were asleep. As she got up the last few steps, she could see dark circles under his eyes, and the hint of stubble when the light hit his face just right, his blond hair nearly invisible against his skin otherwise. He was always clean shaven, and it looked like he hadn’t bothered to shave in a few days.

As quietly as possible, she sat down, hoping not to wake him. He certainly looked like he needed the sleep. Either she wasn't as stealthy as she thought, or he hadn't been asleep, because she'd barely hit the seat when his eyes opened, a sweet smile slipping across his face as soon as he saw her.

"Hey."

"Hey," she echoed, returning his smile, feeling a strange, yet wonderful sensation course through her body.

That wasn't a smile that said their kiss was a mistake. She hadn't even realized how much she'd needed that reassurance until it happened.

"I thought maybe you were avoiding me."

He used his hands to push himself up, so he wasn't slouching anymore. He looked at her, and his face rapidly shifted through a range of emotions, too fast for her to distinguish them individually. "Oh, sh--I'm sorry, Re. I . . ." His voice dropped off, as if he were unable to find the rest of his sentence.

She noticed him rub the heel of his hand on his left thigh. "Did your missing class have anything to do with your leg?" Renee's boldness seemed to surprise them both, and he immediately stopped rubbing his leg.

He opened his mouth, then closed it, glanced down at the front of the auditorium, as if hoping the professor would walk in and end their conversation.

Suddenly anxious, she eased her hand into his. For a moment, she feared he'd pull away, but instead, he squeezed it. When he turned his head, some of his exhaustion seemed to have melted away, replaced by a complex expression she couldn't quite determine. A mixture of relief and uncertainty and hope.

"Yes," he said in a whisper, looking down at their hands.

She reached up with her other hand, smoothing his cheek, feeling the tickle of stubble against her skin. Not sure what to say next, desperate to feel his lips against hers again, she reveled in their touch. _Let him tell you. Don't push_ , Renee reminded herself. Talking about himself obviously wasn't easy, and whatever the story was behind his leg, it was a struggle for him to share. She already felt like he'd let her in more in the short time they'd known each other than he did for most, and that didn't even include the kiss.

"It's a long story, right?"

He looked away, swallowed hard, shrugged.

Offering a hand squeeze and a smile, she said, "Then we can leave it until this afternoon, after class. We'll grab a bite and you can tell me then. If you want to," she added, realizing she really didn't have a right to know if he wasn't ready. They may have shared one kiss, but it wasn't like they were boyfriend/girlfriend. Yet.

He let out a long whoosh of breath, as if he hadn't breathed in the last few minutes. Then he looked up at her with a simple, relieved smile. "OK. OK." He inhaled sharply, as if to buoy himself. "I'm meeting someone at four, but it shouldn't take long. We could do something after that?"

She nodded, smiling.

Their attention was momentarily drawn to the front of the lecture hall, where the professor had arrived and was setting up.

"I have . . ." He took in a deep breath. "I won't be in philosophy."

She looked over at him, but his gaze was still fixed on the professor.

"Didn't want you to be surprised when I didn't show."

Her eyebrows furrowed. "All right. I'll see you this afternoon, then?"

* * *

Kai sat on the exam table, pushed all the way back so the wall supported him. His back hurt, and the nearly full-body soreness still hummed just beneath the surface, a constant reminder of the MLS attack of Monday. He closed his eyes and tried not to think about what Dr. J might have to say. Instead, he let his mind turn to Renee. She'd looked different today. He couldn't quite say why; maybe it was the simple fact that after days apart, it was nice to see her face again. She'd tried to hide it, but she'd been excited to see him, relieved he hadn't been avoiding her. God, he felt awful that the idea had ever plagued her. He should have called her.

He wondered what she'd think about him once he told her about his MLS. He hadn't lied. But Jake had insisted his hiding it was enough of a deception. Would she feel betrayed? Would she decide she didn't want to see him anymore? It really wasn't a big deal. Jake was right. He should have told her from the beginning, got it out there. His stomach cramped. So far, she'd handled everything well. They'd kissed! She might have questions, but she'd be OK with it. And it'd be nice to have one less thing about himself he needed to hide from her.

"Sorry to keep you waiting." Dr. Johnsen's voice snapped Kai out of his reverie. "We really did squeeze you in." Without waiting for Kai to respond, Dr. J grabbed the stool, wheeled it closer, and sat. "So what's going on?"

Kai sighed and nudged his chin toward the medical file in Dr. J's hands. "I'm sure you know better than me."

Dr. Johnsen flipped through the file absently before shutting it and laying it in his lap. He leaned forward. "I'll be honest with you, Kai. I don't know much more of what's going on than the fellow who treated you in the ER. If you were any other patient, I'd pull your brother in for a consult--"

"No," Kai said firmly. "I want to figure out what's going on before getting Jon involved. He'll just freak."

Dr. J nodded. He opened the file again, reviewing its contents. "Your X-ray was normal, your bloodwork fine. Your sats and peak flow were acceptable today. . . . How have you been feeling since Sunday?"

Kai swept the hair off his face. "I had a bad MLS attack Monday. . . ." He hesitated a moment, then added, "And . . . I've been having nightmares. Every night, the same one. And I always wake up, struggling to breathe."

Dr. J frowned, stood up, and set the file aside. "How bad are these attacks?" He pulled his stethoscope out of his pocket.

Kai sighed and used his hands to push himself away from the wall. "I'm usually OK after I use my inhaler and a few minutes pass, but . . . obviously, I haven't been sleeping well."

Dr. Johnsen's eyebrows dipped sternly, and he moved closer, positioning the earbuds of his stethoscope in each ear, rubbing the end to warm it up. "Does this happen more than once a night?"

"Almost every time I fall asleep."

Dr. J slipped the head of the stethoscope under the back of Kai's shirt. "Just breathe normally." He moved the stethoscope around Kai's back, listening carefully in each spot. "OK, slow, deep breaths now." After several minutes, Dr. J shifted the stethoscope to Kai's chest, checking his heart, before removing it and slinging it over his neck. He sighed heavily.

"It's all in my head, isn't it," Kai said before the doctor could speak. "I sound fine."

"You do sound fine," Dr. J agreed. "But that doesn't mean there isn't something going on. I read the notes from the ER the other night. That attack was real, and your sats were way down."

"So what do we do?" Kai asked, looking forlorn.

Dr. J sighed and scrunched his face up. "How's your nightly peak flow been?"

Kai shrugged. "OK. In the 90s." Generally, peak flow values above ninety-percent were considered good, so the fact that his were OK each night, yet he still was waking with labored breathing was yet another perplexing part of the puzzle.

"What about your PO2?" Dr. J had settled back on the stool and was scribbling notes.

"Uh . . ."

He stopped abruptly and looked up. "You're telling me you live with Jon Taylor and you don't check your sats regularly?" Dr. J laughed softly. "This is what we're going to do. I'm going to write you a script for some oral steroids. I know it's not ideal if you're having trouble sleeping, but if this is a rejection issue, it'll buy us some time to figure things out, and it might help with the attacks. Make sure you take the last dose at three PM." Dr. J scribbled quickly. "I also want you to check your peak flow and sats three times a day, and record the numbers. And I'd like you to come in for some more tests, see if we can figure out what's going on here."

"What are you thinking?" Kai said in a sigh, shoulders hunched.

"Draw some more blood before you go, then get you in for another X-ray, a methacholine challenge, a biopsy, and a full pulm function test. Cover all our bases."

Kai nodded. "Can't wait." He sighed.

"I know things have been stressful lately. You've had a lot to adjust to, and now you have school. . . . And I know Jon works too much." Dr. Johnsen took in a breath. "You might want to consider talking to someone. About the nightmares."

Kai groaned.

"It wouldn't have to be the same psych the transplant committee made you see," Dr. J said, trying to reassure Kai. "I know a few good doctors I could refer you to. You might find it helpful, and it might alleviate your stress. Which isn't making things any better." Dr. J pulled some business cards out of one of his white coat pockets and thumbed through them quickly, finally handing a few to Kai.

Kai stared at the first card. _Dr. Angela Mitchell, MD. Child, Adolescent, Adult Psychiatry. Board-Certified. Specialist in Adjustment Disorder, PTSD, Personality Disorders_. Without bothering to read the rest, Kai let his head drop; his exhaustion seemed to magnify. He'd been forced to see a shrink a few times in his life, and each time had resented it. The first was when his parents died, the state convinced a psychologist could help him get over the trauma that was keeping him mute. Thankfully, it wasn't long before they realized no amount of therapy was going to get the sickly, tiny blond boy to speak, and he'd been able to return to kindergarten at the deaf school. Most recently, he'd had six months of psych visits, one of the requirements of the transplant program. Kai had been very careful in what he said and how so that he could get through the mandatory sessions without making waves or throwing up red flags. Shrinks didn't work, because they thought they knew all the answers. Sometimes, there simply weren't any.

"I'll think about it," Kai muttered.

Dr. J put a hand on Kai's shoulder. "It's not uncommon to feel depressed or off-keel after a transplant. I think if you found a good therapist, whom you felt comfortable with. . . . You can't keep everything to yourself forever, Kai. Sooner or later, it has to come out."

* * *

"Why am I not surprised to find you here?" Dr. Johnsen grabbed a chair and sat in it, backwards, next to Jon.

The lounge on this floor was small and empty, especially at this time of day. The smell of stale, burnt coffee lingered in the air. Jon was bent over some paperwork, his hair a tangled mess, one of his hands working through it absently as he concentrated. He barely acknowledged the other man's presence.

"You do realize, Dr. Howser, that you have an office. And you're not a fellow anymore."

Jon finally looked up at Dr. J, who was smirking. "I told you never to call me that," Jon growled.

Because Jon had graduated high school early and done a six-year combined undergrad/MD program, when he started his medicine residency, he was only twenty-two, the youngest of his class by four years--at least--most of the residents were in their late twenties, or even into their thirties. He was also brilliant, so he'd quickly earned the nickname "Doogie" or "Dr. Howser," after the TV show character. Jon hated it, but had never been able to shake the nickname, even when he became chief resident. Even his attendings often called him Dr. Howser instead of Taylor, and when he graduated, the head of the department had given him a white coat with the joke name embroidered on it, as if it really were his. During the first year of Jon's fellowship, Dr. J had found the coat in Jon's office and immediately taken to the nickname. At thirty, Jon was not only the youngest staff pulmonologist, he was also younger than nearly all the fellows below him.

"Fine. It's meant as a compliment, you know. Dave and I still can't believe you stayed here. National Jewish would have loved to have you," Dr. J remarked, referring to one of the top pulmonary centers in the country, located in Denver.

Jon ignored him, focusing intently on the documents in front of him.

Dr. J sighed. "We need to talk. Come on. I'll buy you a real coffee."

* * *

"Here. Against my better judgment: triple espresso. Black," Dr. J said, setting the paper cup in front of Jon. A Starbucks kiosk had opened on the first floor of the hospital, intended for outpatients and families of inpatients, but had quickly become a hangout for hospital staff craving their caffeine in something other than "sludge." Dr. J took his seat across from Jon, sipping his latte.

"So what did I do?" Jon said, opening the lid of his to cool it.

"We're not here to talk about you. Well, maybe a little," Dr. J admitted, looking around. They'd retreated to a group of couches ensconced in a nook off the lobby, and were alone despite the bustle of traffic they could hear moving through the busy foyer just feet away. "How has Kai been adjusting, do you think?" Dr. J asked with one raised eyebrow.

Jon cradled his cup in both hands, staring down into its darkness. "I've been a little concerned. . . . Why? Have you seen him lately? Did he say something?" Jon's head popped up, scrutinizing.

Dr. J sighed and masked his face with several sips of coffee. "You know I couldn't tell you, unless--"

Jon almost spilled his drink. "Unless you think he's going to harm himself. Ben--"

"Don't put words in my mouth, Jon," Dr. J cautioned. "But you are worried about him."

Jon took a few swigs of his espresso, then nodded. "I don't have any real evidence; it's just a hunch, based on his behavior, some things he's said, that kind of thing, but . . ."

Dr. J shifted in his seat. "You have the best gut of any physician I've ever worked with. If it's telling you something, you need to trust it."

Jon sighed heavily. "I'm worried Kai might be . . . overly stressed. Maybe depressed." He pulled his fingers through his hair. "I think he'd talk to me more if my ASL were better, but . . ."

"Then hire a tutor. I know you care about your brother, and you're obviously worried about him. Make time for improving your sign language. Make time for him. Maybe that's all he really needs." Dr. J leaned forward. "A transplant is a life-changing experience. And you know that thoracic surgery often puts a patient's emotions in flux. Without support from friends and family. . . . Kai needs you now more than ever."

"So this is my fault," Jon said quietly.

Dr. J rolled his eyes, suppressing a sigh. "If Kai is depressed, it's not necessarily your fault, but making time for him will help. Maybe you can convince him to see someone again. Maybe you both should."

* * *

Kai shifted his weight on the bench. His legs ached, especially his calves, but without taking his braces off, he couldn't really massage them. He leaned back on his hands, stretching his back, resisting the urge to check the time again. Becca was late, not surprisingly. Kai shut his eyes, breathing slowly, pulling himself away from pain and stress and everything, focusing on the dance of color behind his lids.

"You finish already?"

"Huh? What?" Kai blinked, recovering slowly. It took him a moment to realize Renee was sitting next to him, and was the one who had spoken.

She laughed, musical, lilting, tossing her curls a bit. "The person you were meeting."

"Oh," he said with a slight shake of his head. "No. I'm still waiting." He sighed, cradled his neck. "Might be a no show. Wouldn't be surprised."

Renee smiled at him, and couldn't resist the urge to trace a finger along his jawline, up to his sideburn, shifting some hair off his face. He let his eyes fall closed, leaning into her touch, a soft sigh escaping his lips. Encouraged, she lightly traced his ear, sending a shiver through his body.

"Re," Kai breathed. Her touch managed to make him forget everything.

"Kai," Renee said, dropping her hand. "I think your wait is over." Her tone shifted drastically, bitter.

Kai opened his eyes suddenly, and saw her: she'd changed her hair, straightening and dying it so that it was a honey brown, lying flat against her. She wore chunky heels with a platform on the front, meaning she towered over Kai and Renee on the bench. Her makeup was heavy, but carefully applied, and Kai hardly recognized her.

"Becca."

She smirked, held a hand out for Renee. "Becca Banks," she said simply.

Renee glanced at Kai, as if hoping for an explanation, before accepting the shake. "Renee Poche."

"You're thirty minutes late," Kai spat, feeling the bile rise in his throat.

Becca shrugged.

Kai glared at her, then looked at Renee, forcing his face to soften. "I'm sorry, Re. This should only take a few minutes." He nudged his head toward the center of the quad. "Let's walk and talk," he said to Becca.

"Where are your crutches?" she asked, ducking a bit to see if he'd hidden them under the bench.

Kai held in his sigh, reminding himself that Renee would know all about his MLS within the hour. "I don't need them," Kai responded flatly, arranging his feet, then bracing his hands on either side of the bench to help push himself up.

Renee watched mutely as Becca sighed and offered her hands to help pull Kai to his feet. Kai glanced at them, then looked up, his expression so searing, Becca should have jumped back. But she didn't even flinch.

"And I don't need you, either," Kai said, pushing himself to his feet. He steadied himself on his right leg, then locked his left, pushing past Becca toward the center of the quad.

* * *

Despite what he'd told Becca, Kai moved slowly, the pain in his lower legs making him wish for his crutches, or even better, his chair. Maybe he'd start Renee's education early by taking her back to his car and using his chair the rest of the evening. He'd already ignored Troy's advice to minimize his time on his feet for the week, but he didn't expect to take long with Becca. Either he'd find out quickly what she'd called him for, or he'd tell her off and walk away.

As slow as Kai moved today, Becca was slower, either intentionally--another part of her incessant mind games--or due to her five-inch heels, Kai wasn't sure. Either way, he waited, arms tightly crossed on his chest, until she finally reached him. She was disorientingly tall in those shoes; he only had a couple inches over her, and wondered if that had been intentional, too.

She smiled as she drew closer, walking leg crossed over leg until she stood in front of him. "You've let your hair grow," she said. "And I like the stubble. It suits you." She grinned and reached to tuck a strand of hair behind his ear.

Kai leaned back just enough to duck her touch, although she snagged him anyway, giggling. "What do you want, Becca?"

She pouted. "You called me."

"Only after you called me. What. Do. You. Want?"

She pouted. "You know, you gave me so much shit about Phil, and look who's Mr. Plurality now." She shrugged. "Although this one--Renee, was it?--is cute. I'll give you that."

"What the fuck are you talking about?" Kai's nails dug into his palms, his hands balled into tight fists. He wanted to sign, powerful, jerking movements, until his arms ached, but Becca had never learned ASL.

"Don't play dumb. Little Lulu there. And I know about Nikki."

Kai couldn't hide his surprise.

Becca laughed. "Don't look so shocked. That girl fucks everything with two legs and a hard dick. If you hadn't fucked her, I'd worry about you."

"Fuck you," Kai said, unable to resist signing as he spoke. But a small part of his brain niggled. Kai and Nikki had never had any true illusions of exclusivity, and he knew she was experienced, but over the past couple weeks, especially, he’d sensed something. Something special, even if neither of them could qualify it. And yet, when he’d suggested they end it, she hadn’t fought him. His hands dropped to his sides and his stomach lurched.

"So hostile. You used to be so sweet. Did you get a personality transplant, too?"

Kai squeezed his fists so tightly his fingers numbed. He shut his eyes, trying to contain his anger. He wouldn’t let her bait him. Kai felt the soft brush of fingertips against his cheek. He flinched, but soon the hand cradled his jaw, another on his neck, and his body reacted to memory, leaning into the touch before he could catch himself.

The last two months before his transplant were fragmented, days blurring together into a long stretch of dying. Every time he closed his eyes, caving to exhaustion, he thought he might never open them again. And each time he woke, struggling through drugs and pain and oxygen deprivation, he’d hope to see Becca’s face.

He never did.

When Kai looked at Becca again, it was through misted vision, his anger muted, and he had to blink rapidly to still the tears that threatened. “Why--” Kai’s voice broke, and he had to swallow hard and try again. “Why did you leave me?”

Several quiet seconds passed, the only sound the distant roll of thunder and a warm, humid breeze. Kai realized he wasn’t getting an answer, and his anger began to resurface, though a harsh ache he knew wasn’t related to his health formed in his chest.

“What do you want?” Kai finally asked again, his voice nearly carried away on the wind. “Did you ever want me? Or was it just a game?”

Becca grew closer, reached up once more to drag fingers along his jaw. This time he snagged her wrist, pulling her away, his teeth clenching.

She inhaled through her nose, but he couldn’t read her face other than a subtle purse of her lips. “Oh, Kai,” she said with a slight shake of her head, like an adult dismissing a naive child.

“I loved you,” Kai whispered.

In the distance, thunder cracked, the sky grew a shade darker, casting long shadows over them.

He forced himself to turn, to start to walk away, because maybe if he was the one to leave it wouldn’t hurt. Feel less like abandonment and more like a choice. After all, hadn’t that been his reason for meeting her?

Becca moved quickly, suddenly, grabbing his cheeks and kissing him.

Shocked, he stumbled backwards, nearly losing his balance. For a brief second, his mind shut down and his body reacted instinctively, meeting her kiss, those lips that he remembered so well. It should have felt right. Incredible and passionate, a spark coursing from tongue to toe. Instead, he pushed her away, relieved the momentary flare of familiarity quickly dissolved to disgust.

He knew, however much it stirred the anxiety in his gut, that Becca was officially something else he could box up and file away as part of his past to be forgotten.

“Go back to Phil,” Kai said slowly, the words careful and measured, “and never contact me again.” He wiped his mouth with his forearm, searching for Renee, but she was gone. When he scanned the perimeter of the quad, he saw her running off. She'd seen him lean into Becca’s touch, kiss. Fuck. He'd never catch up with her.

For a moment, he stood, frozen, his hand over his mouth, his heart pounding.

"You care about her," Becca said, saddling up alongside him.

Kai resisted the urge to look at her, the words spilling out. "You never loved me.”

Becca didn't answer, and after several minutes, Kai forced himself to turn. He saw Becca striding away, the wind gently blowing her hair. Once again, she'd left him alone, without any answers. But that wasn't true, Kai realized. She'd shown him his past, clearly behind him, and his future. . . . He knew Renee needed to be a part of it.

Now he just had to hope she still wanted that, too.

* * *

Kai sat in his car, his fingers fumbling to attach his handsfree device to his phone. He couldn’t seem to get the plug into the jack. His mind swirled with conflicting, powerful emotions. His amateur sleuthing had served only to tell him Renee didn’t live on campus, and he wasn’t sure what to do next.

For one, saying goodbye--forever--to Becca should have been cathartic, but instead, he felt sick, the meager lunch he’d eaten threatening to leave his stomach. Not being able to find Renee, or even talk to her (every call had gone straight to voicemail) didn’t help. Becca was gone. Renee was gone. And he’d stupidly pushed Nikki away. A small part of his brain argued he wasn’t thinking straight, but the rest of him battled against it, blending with his fears over his health, his doubts and his uncertainties until his skin practically tingled from the irrational war within himself.

He managed to get the earpiece in one ear and hit the speed dial, taking a few breaths to try to steady himself, but he still felt a heaviness in his gut that wouldn’t resolve easily.

“Jake. I fucked up.”

"What'd you do now?" Jake said with a laugh.

“Becca,” Kai said simply, as if that would explain everything.

“Kai--”

“We kissed.” Kai sucked in a harsh breath. “I’m pretty sure Renee saw.” A blur of curly hair jogged across the parking lot, and his heart sped its beat, but as she drew closer, he realized it definitely wasn’t Renee. Too tall, the hair too long and too light.

"Pretty sure?"

Kai sighed. "Considering she ran off and isn't answering my calls, fine. She did. I'm totally fucked. Is there any way I can fix this?" Kai decided hanging out on campus was only going to make him crazy, so he hurriedly backed out of his spot, heading toward Main, not quite ready to go home, but not sure what to do with himself either.

Jake was quiet for a long moment, as if thinking. Finally, he said, “It could be worse. It's not like she walked in on the two of you having sex. You might be redeemable. . . . Wait, let me visualize that. . . ."

“Fuck, Jake.” Kai braked hard at the final stop sign before Main. “You're imagining me having sex?!"

"Don't flatter yourself. I'm thinking Becca and the new girl. . . . And maybe that other chick. . . ."

Traffic was beginning to pick up--as much as traffic in Jonesville ever did, anyway, as Kai squeezed onto Main heading away from his apartment. "Glad you’re taking this seriously. I call you for advice and you're turning my love life into a lesbian porno."

"Hey, lesbians are hot. I'm just pointing out some missed opportunities in your life.” Jake chuckled. “Man, if things had been different in high school, you'd have dozens of little bastards running around.”

Kai gripped the steering wheel tightly. "Yeah, the girls were just throwing themselves on the strange kid who didn't talk and had more hardware than a Menards."

"Shit. Kai--"

Kai zoomed past the courthouse, noting the sky was darkening, suggesting the thunderstorm would hit any minute. "Jake. It's OK. Bridge under water."

Jake laughed. Hard.

Kai's brows furrowed; he sighed. "I got the idiom wrong, didn't I."

"I think you were going for 'water under the bridge.'" Jake grew serious. "You still think in ASL when you're upset."

"You know my brain's like the rest of me: fucked up." He frowned as he passed the deli where he’d met Renee the other day, where they’d kissed, where everything had seemed so wonderful, if only for a fleeting moment. An unexpected surge of emptiness overtook him, and he had to swallow hard and focus on the road.

"You are fucked up," Jake acknowledged, and Kai could almost see his eyes smiling. "But you must really like this girl."

 _"HOT-NECK_ ," Kai said, _I’m crazy about her_ , barely resisting the urge to sign the ASL idiom, even though Jake obviously couldn't see. "I was going to come clean . . . about my MLS."

"Becca always did have impeccable timing," Jake muttered. "So the kiss . . . ?"

Kai paused at a red light as a bolt of lightning pierced the sky in the distance. "That was all her.” It was. Just because his body and mind disjoined for an instant didn’t mean anything. In the end, he’d pushed her away. That’s what counted. Right? “I'd agreed to meet her because I needed to move on. I think she did it just to fuck with me."

"That definitely sounds like her."

"So what do I do? Renee isn't taking my calls, and I don't know where she lives, other than off campus." Just then, Kai spotted the sign for Lost Apple Books. Art would have her address. Maybe he’d give it to him?

“The Kai I know never gave up easily. Fuck, that’s probably why you’re still alive.”

“Jake.” Kai pulled into the bookstore parking lot and eased into the nearest handicapped spot as the first spattering of raindrops fell with loud splats on his windshield.

“It’s true. If you really like this girl, you can’t let Becca of all people fuck it up for you. Go after her.”

The rain increased in fury, and Kai twisted, reaching behind the passenger’s seat for his poncho. He didn’t feel like getting soaked, especially since it made the leather of his braces stink, and it took forever for the padding to dry.

“The things you want the most in life are never easy,” Jake said, half joking.

Kai sighed, finding the balled up poncho and sitting up again. “Life is never easy.”

* * *

The woman was already sitting in one of the armchairs by the window of Nancy’s cafe, cradling a mug of something hot, pausing briefly to blow the steam off before taking a sip. Although Jon had never seen her before, he knew it was her: yellow blouse, chin-length dirty-blond hair, just as she’d described. He debated getting a coffee, but the triple espresso Ben had treated him to still hummed in his veins, and he was hoping to keep this short and sweet.

Jon pulled his hand through his hair and approached, offering what he hoped was a smile. “Megan Younger?”

She smiled, set her mug aside--tea, he could see now, the string and tag of the bag dangling off to one side--and rose. “Dr. Taylor.” She gestured for him to sit.

She was pretty, he supposed, in that bubbly, school teacher kind of way, and she apparently talked with her hands even when she wasn’t signing, he thought, zoning out as she babbled a bit about herself. It reminded him of Kai. A modest engagement ring twinkled on her left finger, but was bare of any other jewelry. So she was engaged, but not married yet. He supposed she was young, maybe Kai’s age, plus or minus a year or two.

“This is the fastest call-to-interview I’ve ever had in my life,” she finally said. Jon had called her an hour ago.

“I don’t like to waste time.”

She nodded, and seemed to shift her demeanor to mirror Jon’s seriousness. “How old is your child?”

“My brother. He’s an adult, but we were separated a long time and I didn’t really keep up with my sign language.” Jon observed how she nodded politely as he spoke, occasionally taking sips of her tea. “I understand a little. Especially if he signs slowly, but most of the time I’m just extrapolating meaning from his facial expressions and the few signs I do know rather than really knowing what he’s saying. And my signing is terrible, as he likes to remind me. Often.”

She chuckled. She was cute, Jon realized. In a little-sister kind of way. Maybe working with her wouldn’t be so bad. “Sounds like you want to increase your vocab, comprehension, and fluency. We can meet a few times a week--”

“Every day.”

“Pardon?” She raised her eyebrows reflexively, as if the integration of her facial expressions to language were so ingrained from ASL that they carried over into her English. _Just like Kai_ , Jon thought.

“I’d prefer to meet with you every day if possible. At least during the week.”

She nodded, twisting her engagement ring absently as she considered, lips pursed. “I can manage that. An hour every day. We’ll work on your conversation skills. ASL immersion. I’ll give you a sheet of vocab at the end of each Friday that we’ll prioritize for the next week." She smiled sweetly. “We’ll get you functionally fluent in no time.”

* * *

Kai sank into his car, tearing off his poncho and tossing it angrily into the passenger’s seat. Frustration radiated off him in waves, and he gripped the steering wheel tightly, though he didn’t start the car. The rain continued to pound and splatter, echoing the blood pulsing in his ears. Art had refused to give him Renee’s address, suggesting Kai return tomorrow, when she was working, if he wanted to talk to her.

The logical part of Kai’s brain knew it was Art respecting Renee’s privacy as he’d respected Kai’s (by not telling Renee the details of Kai’s past), but the rest of him raged. He felt completely out of control, anxious. The hot humidity in the stale car became stifling, and Kai found he was breathing harder, shoulders working. He punched the key in the ignition and turned, adjusting the fans for some circulation. His fingers tingled. He felt like he was suffocating, like his skin was crawling with hundreds of tiny ants.

What the fuck was wrong with him?

He’d finally gotten the shadow of Becca off his shoulders, and once he got to talk to Renee, she’d understand. But why did he feel like he’d thrown everything away? With Becca, with Nikki, with Renee. Why did this overwhelming feeling of _aloneness_ grip him, turn his stomach and make him want to tear off his skin?

His hands were shaking. _Shaking_. His chest tight, heart racing, head fuzzy, like he’d just gotten an epi injection. He pinched the band on his wrist, snapped it. Snap. Snap. Snap. Each pull more desperate to snap himself out of whatever the hell was happening to him. After maybe a dozen of these--he honestly wasn’t sure, his mind was too messed up to bother counting--the band broke.

“Motherfucker,” Kai swore. The past few weeks, the band had helped the anxiety, and so he never went without one, replacing them immediately whenever one broke. He tore open his glove compartment, hand blindly searching. He had to have one in here. “Shit.”

Kai jerked his hand back, noting a thin line of blood along the tip of his middle finger. He stared at the blood for a moment, squeezing it out with his thumb, his heart rate soaring. He dove back into the glove compartment until he found the source of his injury--a paint scraper he’d bought when he’d gotten the car, which he’d used to take off the myriad parking permits and bumper stickers left over from the previous owner. It was obviously sharper than he’d imagined, as his finger began to throb pleasantly.

A flare of panic filled him, and he quickly threw the scraper back into the compartment, placing his hands on the steering wheel, as if to ground himself. His breaths came in harsh gasps now, and his vision tunneled. He closed his eyes, tried to calm himself, but it didn’t work. He’d peek them open, glance at the glovebox, fingers tingling, itching to take the blade to his skin.

He needed to go. Somewhere. Home, maybe. Sit in the cold shower. Maybe take some Valium. He never liked to take it if his muscles weren't spasming, but fuck, he needed to get out of his head somehow. He felt like a part of himself were crawling around, trapped in his skull, scratching desperately for escape.

* * *

Diane pushed the apartment door open, shaking her head. She was drenched--having been caught in the downpour not once, but twice, and a headache was forming behind her eyes. She wanted to grab a glass of wine, sink into the tub, and just soak for an hour.

The smell of burnt food immediately assaulted her nostrils, and she dumped her damp bag at the door, jogging into the kitchen, her wet jeans sticking to her legs and leaving a dripping trail behind her. As she drew closer, she heard faint sobbing and sniffling, and peeking over the half-wall that divided the kitchen from their small living room, she saw Renee, sunk into a chair, practically crying into a bowl of . . . something.

The scent of overcooked food and charred spices was heavy, along with the faintest remnants of smoke, and dirty dishes and pots covered the counters and filled the sink.

Renee seemed to notice Diane and sniffled, wiping her nose with the back of her wrist, managing to spread some kind of gunk on her cheek in the process. Her hair, pulled up in a loose ponytail, was spattered with what might have been flour, frizzy from the humidity, making her look like some kind of bride of Frankenstein wannabe. It was enough to make Diane laugh, but she bit her lip. Renee only cooked--or attempted to, anyway--when she was really upset.

“I tried to make gumbo,” Renee muttered, looking around the disaster of the kitchen as if for the first time.

Diane grabbed a bunch of paper towels, wet the end, and offered them to Renee. “What happened?”

Renee just shook her head, bubbling into more sobs, so Diane stepped forward and took the paper towels, cleaning her friend’s face.

“Class with Blondie didn’t go so well.”

Renee sniffled and her eyes met Diane’s, but she didn’t say anything.

Diane sighed. “Let me guess: the kiss was a mistake. He got caught up in the moment and he just wants to be friends.”

Renee pulled a piece of the paper towel out of Diane’s hands and blew her nose, shaking her head.

“Oh, God. He wants to be fuck buddies, no strings.” Diane’s fist balled. She didn’t care if this guy was a linebacker. She’d beat the fuck out of him if she saw him. Renee had been through enough jerks.

Renee took in a deep breath, seeming to get herself under control. “It’s not like that,” she said, biting her lip. She explained how happy Kai had seemed to see her, how he’d invited her to talk after classes, how her heart had soared with possibility. How then Becca, his _girlfriend_ , the one Renee had suspected he’d had all along, had showed.

“He kissed her, right in front of me,” Renee moaned, starting to break down again.

Diane pulled her into a quick hug. “He kissed her, or she kissed him?” Diane leaned back to study Renee’s face.

Renee’s dark brows knit, her mind working. “I . . . I’m not sure. It happened so fast, and I was so upset, I took off.” She nibbled her lip. “But he must have kissed her. I mean, she’s his girlfriend, isn’t she?”

“Sounds to me like an ex, from your story,” Diane said sincerely. “Have you talked to him?”

Renee shook her head. “He’s been calling me all afternoon, but I just . . . I just couldn’t. I couldn’t hear lies or excuses.”

Diane squeezed her shoulder. “I could talk to him.”

“No,” Renee said immediately.

Diane nodded, and decided to rise and start loading the dishwasher. “Then find out what he has to say in class on Monday. That way you can look in his eyes and see if he’s giving you a line about what happened. Go from there.”

Renee sighed. Maybe Diane was right; maybe she’d overreacted. But part of her was still hurt and angry for what she saw as a betrayal despite the limited status of their relationship. And part of her reveled in the confirmation that Kai really was out of her league.

Diane laughed. “Or maybe he just goes around kissing all the girls he knows. Why bother with a handshake when you can shake tongues?”

* * *

Even though Kai had to concentrate hard on the road to make it to his apartment as the rain grew blindingly heavy, his mind still hadn’t settled. He sat in the parking lot, in his reserved space, still feeling that invisible gnawing. The pain in his finger had faded, and his eyes drifted to the glove box.

His hand moved to the latch, almost as if of its own volition, pulling it open. He held his breath. His stomach felt tied in a huge knot, and it was a very real possibility he’d lose his lunch.

Or his mind.

No. He’d already lost that, he thought, pulling the scraper out and clutching it in his hand.

He could go for a swim. Or lift weights, or jack off. Something. Anything else. The rain grew louder, a crack of thunder piercing the pounding against the roof of the car. But Kai knew none of those things would help. Only pulling metal through flesh would quiet the storm raging inside him.

He was foolish and stupid to think he could attempt school, that he could have any semblance of a relationship. He could be used. He could fuck. And that was it. Not that it mattered, because his MLS was spiking--the latest attacks only the beginning, he knew from experience--and any delusions he had that the transplant had cured his FS were fading after his visit with Dr. J that morning.

How could Renee want him? Really want him? Once she learned the truth, she’d run. Just like Becca. Becca, who he’d thought understood, who he believed had loved him. Who obviously never did, he realized, thumb testing the blade of the scraper. If she had, why hadn’t she answered him this afternoon?

 _Just one cut_ , he thought, lifting his shirt and bringing the blade to his bare skin. He grazed the edge along his side, toward his ribs, feeling the threat of the cut as his chest expanded with each breath. Lightning flashed in his peripheral vision and he pressed harder, dragging the blade through his skin along the curve of his ribs, keeping it shallow. The complaint didn’t hit him immediately; not until the crash of the thunder did the sweet, simple pain begin to throb. He closed his eyes, focusing on it.

This was pain he could control.

After a moment, it faded to a dull ache, and over the next few minutes, he found himself making several slices along his sides and stomach, trying to stay in that blissful place outside himself, enveloped by the sensation of the cuts as long as possible.

But it didn’t last. Even though, because of the placement of the gashes, each breath irritated them, skin pulling and shifting with each inhalation, the restlessness, the uncomfortable itch in his brain, remained. Tossing the bloody scraper aside, he reversed out of the spot so quickly he nearly rammed into an oncoming car, the blare of their horn echoing long after he’d pulled out of the complex.

* * *

Nikki woke to the incessant pounding. At first, brain still heavy with sleep, she thought it might be her neighbors, who apparently believed tossing heavy objects around the apartment was the best kind of foreplay. Soon, she realized it was knocking, coming from her door. A flutter of panic hit her. Mark. He’d showed up at the diner a couple nights ago. Clyde had scared him off, but what if he’d followed her home? Nikki sat on the edge of the bed, trying to ignore the person at her door. Maybe if they thought she wasn’t home, they’d go away. Whoever it was.

The sound shifted, as if the person had stopped using their fist and were now slamming their palm against the door instead. The rhythm skipping, as if they were tired, but not willing to give up yet.

Soon, a voice accompanied the sound. Panicked, desperate, calling her name.

Kai’s voice.

Nikki had never heard Kai sound like that, and it sent a shiver of worry up her spine. She dashed to the door, double-checking the peephole before opening for him.

Kai’s clothes were damp, and he was leaning heavily on the doorframe, his breath ragged, his face pale and . . . crazed. It was a look Nikki remembered from her brief time on the streets, and it terrified her.

“I saw your car. I hoped . . .”

Nikki reluctantly stepped back, warily watching Kai as he limped to her bed, collapsing blindly on it without unlocking his leg.

Nikki hurriedly locked the door, keeping her distance, worry mixed with the hint of fear. Maybe it was just thinking about Mark, but seeing Kai like this made her nervous. Before she could ask why he was here or what the hell was going on, he spoke.

“Kiss me,” he said. It wasn’t a command, but not quite a plea, either, his tone strange, like the rest of his behavior. He reached for her, and she approached, still cautious. “Please.”

As soon as she drew close enough, he pulled her onto his lap and devoured her in a hungry, greedy kiss, his hands clinging to her as if she were his lifeline. She opened for him, letting his tongue probe her mouth. Remembering the night after the party, when he’d fucked her with animalistic desperation. With that recollection, his behavior suddenly seemed more familiar. Had the girl, the one he said he was leaving Nikki for, rejected him? Was that what this was?

He nipped at her lips, encouraging her to bite him back, and she could almost feel the pain emanating off him. Gripping one of his shoulders, she slid her other hand under his shirt, and her fingers met unexpected resistance, dampness. The wrong viscosity for sweat or rain. She pulled back, lifted the fabric, and gasped. Half a dozen long gashes along his side and stomach, some oozing, marred his skin.

“Jesus. You’re bleeding!” She pulled his shirt farther up, seeing more marks. “What the fuck?” she demanded, nearly falling off his lap. “What happened?”

“Nothing,” Kai said resolutely, yanking the fabric back down.

“Dammit, Kai. This isn’t nothing.” He didn’t resist when she moved to examine the marks again. “Some of these are deep.” Nikki shifted to rise; she needed to get stuff to clean those wounds. Hopefully none would need stitches. But Kai grabbed her wrists, his grip painful. Nikki struggled, trying to pull away, panic flaring instinctively, fighting him though she knew she had no chance if he wasn’t willing. “Let go,” she said in a strangled voice, her eyes wide.

Kai shook his head, as if he hadn’t realized how firmly he was holding her, releasing her immediately.

Her heart was still pounding in her throat, but before she could move or act further, Kai dissolved, covering his face, mumbling unintelligibly--she wasn’t sure he was even trying to make words--his chest heaving, his breath quickly turning into wheezes. She saw he was biting the heel of his hand, hard, and the terror of earlier quickly surged. Kai was definitely a headcase, but this . . . this was different.

She managed to pull his hands from his face, grabbing his cheeks so she could study his eyes. It seemed crazy, but was her boy next door strung out? For the first time, she got a good look at his face--his eyes were bloodshot, dark circles beneath them, several days’ worth of stubble coating his cheeks--and he looked exhausted.

“When was the last time you slept?”

His eyes were unfocused as he responded. “More than a couple hours?” A hollow, eerie laugh escaped his lips. “Days.” He shuddered, and he looked ready to break down again.

Hesitantly, she eased off his lap, nervous about leaving him alone, but something told her he wasn’t going anywhere. A few minutes later, she returned with a couple pills and a bottle of water, offering them to him insistently.

The panic attack--if that’s what this was--hadn’t completely subsided, and he studied the pills in her hand warily, his shoulders rising and falling in quick, forced breaths.

“Xanax,” she said. “Don’t ask where I got them, just take them.”

At first, she thought his breathing was getting worse, but then she realized he was shaking, his whole body trembling. Fuck.

“Take them,” she said, her voice stern.

He shook his head. “I’m fine,” he said, but even his voice was unsteady.

“You’re so far from fucking fine, Kai, you’re in another dimension,” Nikki said, her eyebrows drawing down sternly over her eyes. “Take. The. Fucking. Pills.”

He reached with a trembling hand and popped the tablets, swallowing them dry, defiantly. Then he wrapped his arms around himself as if he were cold, dropping his head and saying nothing.

She tugged at his shirt, and he let her help him pull it off. He wasn’t exactly calm, but he wasn’t resisting. Then she nudged him back on the bed, and wrapped her arms around him. He was getting blood on her blanket, on her clothes, but she’d worry about that later as he rolled into her embrace, sobbing into her chest. She smoothed his hair, mystified; the meds should only take a few minutes to work. She knew he took Valium occasionally for his muscles and hoped he didn’t have too high a resistance. He needed the calming effect of the drug, and perhaps some sleep, too. Plus, it would give her a chance to treat his cuts.

After a few minutes, his body relaxed, and his breathing grew quieter, slower. _Thank God_ , she thought, rolling him off her. It gave her a chance to finally fully see the damage etched into his flesh. Some of the smaller cuts had already begun to scab, but the others still wept a sheen of blood. Dammit.

She spent the next thirty minutes tending to his gashes and pulling off the rest of his clothes. His pants weren’t really wet, and neither were his braces, she was relieved to find, not particularly wanting her apartment to smell like soaked leather. She folded up his jeans, and his wallet tumbled out of the pocket, spilling business cards on the floor. Glancing over to make sure he was still asleep, she scooped them up.

As she prepared to shove them back into his wallet, she noticed the name on the first--Dr. Angela Miller, psychiatry--and frowned. Then she caught another doctor’s name. Dr. Jon Taylor, pulmonology. On the back, written in Kai’s slanted lettering was another number, likely his brother’s cell. She studied Kai, whose nose twitched subtly in his sleep, debating about calling. She didn’t know exactly what was going on, but she was willing to bet those cuts didn’t come from Kai taking a shortcut through a rosebush. Finally, she settled for entering the number into her cell and stretching out alongside Kai to watch him sleep.

* * *

The rain had stopped thirty minutes ago, although thunder still rumbled in the distance and the sky remained dark and threatening as Jon made his way over the boggy ground of the cemetery. Tombstones glistened with rainwater, and bouquets of dying flowers lay soggy on some of the graves. In the distance, he saw the end of a funeral, the majority of the mourners heading back toward their cars, and Jon forced himself to look away, heading up a small slope toward the familiar spot.

He smoothed his hand over the granite, sinking down to his knee, ignoring the dampness seeping into his pant leg. He studied the inscription,

_Bryan Taylor, b. 1948. | Ann Taylor, b. 1951._

1984\. _30 September 1984._

_No farewell words were spoken, no time to say goodbye,_

_you were gone before we knew it, and only God knows why._

It was ridiculously sentimental, but fitting, even if Jon wasn’t entirely sure he believed in God. He’d purchased the headstone a couple years ago, replacing the cheap plaques that had marked their graves for years. Not that it mattered, he supposed. They were dead. Not even much of their physical bodies remained. But he’d done it, partially because, in the back of his mind, he’d been imagining the stone he’d get for Kai if it came to it, trying to warm himself up for the terrible task he was wearily certain would come to pass. It would be easier to select his brother’s marker, he’d thought, if he’d already done it for their parents.

“I don’t know what I’m doing here,” Jon said, sinking down to both knees. “It’s not like you can hear me.” He sighed, pulled his fingers through his hair, glanced over his shoulder as the final mourners abandoned the coffin, slowly being lowered into the ground.

“I’m worried about Kai,” Jon said, then laughed subtly. “I know you’d probably accuse me of constantly worrying about him.” Jon frowned. The storm had brought a front, dropping the temperature nearly twenty degrees. A gust of wind blew, making Jon shiver. “I can’t lose him now,” he said, nearly pleading. His hands bundled into tight fists.

“I always used to know what to do for him. But this . . .” Jon swallowed, collapsing down onto his legs. “I hated you for so many years, Dad, for not doing more for Mom. For not preventing her from. . . . But I understand now, how you must have felt. Fuck,” Jon said, exasperated. He closed his eyes, ignored the cool wind that reminded him of Kai’s birthday.

Though it had been the height of summer, when temperatures were normally in the 90s, it had been unseasonably cool, a fierce, cold wind blowing as if winter were trying to come months early. It had felt almost like an omen, when Jon had climbed on his bicycle to head to the library, where he’d planned to spend hours absorbing as many books as he could. But the unexpected chill had sent him peddling back home after only a few blocks so he could retrieve a jacket.

Thank God he had.

The memory always seemed to move in slow motion. Jon’s bike, discarded in the front yard, his hand on the door, calling out to his mother about the jacket as he jogged for the closet. But when she didn’t answer, the innate worrier in him had searched the house until he found her.

Sprawled on the kitchen floor, blood oozing fresh from her wrists, the kitchen knife she’d used lying nearby. It was a scene no seven-year-old should ever have to see, an image that still haunted him sometimes when he shut his eyes.

Not yet eight months pregnant, both Ann and Kai had nearly died that day, an emergency C-section and life support managing to keep Jon’s premature baby brother alive, although, at the time, the prognosis wasn’t good. Both mother and son had spent months recovering, while Jon had struggled desperately to understand.

Jon had never been able to look at his mother the same after that, and it was years before the nightmares faded. Maybe their mother’s suicide attempt was the reason Jon had always clung so closely to Kai. Maybe that day was the reason Jon never ignored his anxious intuition.

Jon shook his head, trying to clear the vivid memory--the truth of which Kai was entirely ignorant of--rubbing his eyes with his forearm before rising to his feet. Jon glanced over at the new grave, now covered with a mound of fresh dirt.

“I _won’t_ lose him now.”

* * *

Nikki woke a few minutes before Kai, giving her some time to admire him as he slept. The drugs had worked, lulling him into a deep, seemingly dreamless sleep, his body relaxed. When his eyes finally opened, it was slowly, and she saw the haze of the drug lingering in his pupils.

She offered a faint smile, smoothed his hair. “I cleaned you up while you were out,” she said.

Kai touched his side, as if he’d forgotten, and his forehead wrinkled momentarily. It could have been in confusion, it could have been pain, before he pressed the heel of his hand into his eyes, as if to help himself wake up.

“Feel better?”

Kai sighed, rolled onto his back and pushed himself up. He seemed disoriented, unsettled. It could be the Xanax, Nikki knew, or it could be whatever had made him wig out still lingered. “I don’t know,” he finally admitted.

Nikki nodded, sat up, curling her legs to her side so she could observe him as he folded his legs, hugging them close to his body and resting his chin on his knees. “What happened?” she asked gently, a palm draped on the bridge of his foot.

“Nothing. Everything. Fuck.” He shut his eyes for half a minute before opening them again. “I don’t know.” He frowned, his mouth taunt as if he’d sucked on a particularly sour lemon. “My doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong with my lungs. I’m pretty sure I’m heading toward a bad period for my legs.” Kai’s eyes darted at Nikki momentarily before he added, “And . . . Becca. I met with her this afternoon. Everything went to shit, and . . .” Kai’s voice evaporated.

Nikki waited a moment for him to continue before realizing he was done. She was still trying to formulate what to say when Kai spoke again.

“Sometimes . . .” Nikki noted he hugged himself tighter, but otherwise was perfectly still. “It’s like this fog comes over me, and . . .” He swallowed. “I try to fight it. I workout or I eat pie or I fuck, but . . .” His breath hitched. “I just had to let it out.” He looked at her, his eyes round, deep blue, pleading, hoping she understood. She’d never seen him look so . . . lost before.

Taking a chance, Nikki smoothed her fingers absently over the top of her phoenix tattoo. “When I was a kid . . . I went through some bad shit,” she admitted vaguely, focusing on the intricacies of the design inked into her skin so she wouldn’t have to meet his eyes. “I ran away when I was fifteen and try not to look back, but . . .” She sighed, shrugged weakly. The silence that followed her admission--she’d never talked about her past, not really, not to anyone, even vaguely--made Nikki’s stomach clench. But she’d already spoken the words; she couldn’t take them back now.

When she looked up, she saw Kai was staring off into the distance, clutching his knees so tightly to his chest the cords stood out in his forearms. “I was ten,” he said, barely a whisper, as if speaking to himself. “It was only a few months, and most of the time, I can forget. . . . Pretend.” He swallowed thickly, and for a moment, Nikki saw that scared ten-year-old boy again in the shadow of the large man sitting huddled beside her on the bed. “But then _this_ happens, and I wonder.” He relaxed subtly, turning toward her. He took a deep, shuddering breath. “Thanks. For everything.”

Nikki shrugged, offered a faint smile. “Perfectly fucked up, remember?”


	10. September 9, 2000

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kai's nightmares grow worse; Nikki assesses her feelings for Kai; Kai pleas with Renee to give him another chance to explain himself. Kai has his first session with Dr. Miller, and goes to Nikki for comfort later. Kai has possibly his worst MLS attack ever, landing him in ICU and causing him to miss his meeting with Renee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again I apologize for not being able to post updates more regularly! My spoons have been pretty low.
> 
> Even though I have the writing all done, ofc, the formatting takes awhile and I can only do it on a computer, which means it takes longer.
> 
> TYSM to those who are still following this story!
> 
> trigger warnings:  
> \- for the first scene of the chapter: depictions of child abuse  
> \- for therapy scene: depictions of self harm

Kai sat huddled on the bed, his legs tucked up, arms wrapped around them, resting his chin on his knees and desperately trying to make himself disappear. He shivered violently, though he wasn’t cold despite the thin T-shirt and briefs he wore, and he clutched his legs harder, trying to still his body. His heart thundered loudly in his ears.

A loud crash off to his side--metal hitting sheetrock--made Kai hunch reflexively, although the thrown crutch was several feet away and in no real danger of hitting him as it clattered to the floor.

The woman--his “aunt”--who’d thrown it was muttering, only a few words loud enough for Kai to make out. “. . . Fucking retard . . . not worth . . . monthly check.” She hurled the second crutch, and though Kai tried not to shirk, he did, his heart leaping into his throat. His T-shirt clung to his back with sweat. “Disgusting. . .”

Tears tracked down Kai’s face as she turned toward him. She’d picked up one of the crutches and was wielding it like a bat. She’d never hit him, but then she’d never been this angry before. She was still hurling insults at him, yelling at him to stop crying. He released one arm from its death grip on his legs just long enough to sign, “ _I’m sorry_ ,” over and over again on his chest.

“Stop with the fucking--” she waved her hands in the air in mock imitation. “You know I don’t know or care what the fuck you’re saying.”

Kai nodded and returned his grip to his legs. His left foot had started spasming terribly, and he tried to shift it under the edge of the bunched up blankets, hoping she wouldn’t see it.

“You’re too fucking quiet,” she murmured, slapping the stick of the crutch against the other palm. “I had thought that was a bonus. Turns out it’s annoying as fuck. I wonder if I hit you with this, if you’d scream?”

Kai’s eyes widened, but he squeezed his legs tighter, burying his face in his knees. The spasms had traveled up into his left calf now.

“I don’t feed you and you still throw up,” she said, disgusted. “And on my fucking shoes.” Kai felt her draw closer, and he trembled again, holding his legs to keep his left from jerking too visibly, desperately trying to shrink into the mattress. “On. My. Fuck. Ing. Shoes,” she repeated, louder and slower this time, the way she usually spoke when talking directly to him, as if he couldn’t understand her otherwise. Kai was used to that. Because he didn't talk and often struggled to walk, most people assumed he wasn't all there.

He was sorry. So sorry. He hadn't meant to throw up. It had just happened. His “aunt” refused to let him eat more than scraps unless he would ask--out loud--for food. But eating so little meant his stomach complained when he tried to fill it. He sobbed harder into his legs. Trembling all over. He’d never made her this mad before.

“Stop. Crying.” She clanged his crutches together.

He jumped in surprise, his arms falling from their grip. Unrestrained, his left leg's spasms became blatant, his right foot joining in. He had to struggle not to cry harder, to take calm, deep breaths, to be _good_. Instead, his breathing was jagged, wheezy, panicked, and he tried to pull his legs back, but they didn't want to bend, and it hurt so much. His heart was beating so fast he could barely hear over the sound of it thundering in his ears.

“Jesus,” she said, anger and disgust dripping from her words. After a moment of staring at him as he struggled to hide his spasms beneath the bedclothes, she added, “You're paying for those shoes.” She pointed the crutches at him, now, and he wondered if being hit with them would hurt more than his legs or his persistently empty stomach or the bruises from the falls he'd taken often since coming here. It was all his fault, he knew. If he'd been good, his legs wouldn't twitch and he wouldn't have trouble walking and he wouldn't throw up, no matter how sick he felt.

He cringed, bracing himself for the impact. But it never came.

“I can't stand to look at you anymore.” Kai risked a tentative glance up, and saw his "aunt" had tucked his crutches under her arm. “Fuck. Up. My. Coffee. Tomorrow. And. I. Break. These.” She grunted and headed for the door. “And if they fucking take you away, good fucking riddance.”

The door slammed shut violently, and the sound immediately set Kai's entire body shaking again. She'd taken his crutches, which wasn't a new punishment, but she'd never threatened to get rid of him before.

Now he was alone, and that terrified him more than the shouting, the pain in his still-spasming leg or the bruises or from the cuts in his thighs where his braces had dug in, or the threat of being hit, or the roll of his uneasy, empty stomach. First, his mother and father had abandoned him. Then his siblings--even Jon, who he’d thought would never leave him. Then, the people at County House had sent him away, too. If this “aunt” decided she wanted him gone because he wasn’t good enough--though he tried so hard to be--what would happen to him? Where would he go?

Kai clenched his eyes tightly, more tears seeping out, his breathing ragged, his body overwhelmed with trembling that had nothing to do with his MLS. He shifted onto his side, struggling into as close to a fetal position as his legs would allow. He had no more tears, so he slid a hand to his thigh, fingers digging into one of the particularly bad sores. The pain was fierce and immediate, coursing through his leg like fire chasing across a room. But it pulled him away from the bed and the woman and the terror of what would happen when she decided she didn’t want him anymore, either.

* * *

Kai woke suddenly, gasping. He struggled to push himself up, his head swimming, his back and hips resisting the movement. His skin was slick with sweat, his hair damp and clinging to his head as if he’d just stepped out of the shower. His pulse raced, and his shoulders heaved with each breath, fighting for air.

The deep fear of his ten-year-old self from his nightmare permeated his body, the panic pulling at him even stronger than it had with the buried-alive dreams of the past week. No matter how hard he worked his chest, he couldn’t seem to fill his new lungs, and that lent its own level of terror.

He struggled to suck in air, his stomach jerking, a faint wheeze echoing on his breath as he reached for his inhaler. Two puffs, as his breathing grew harsher, shallower, faster, desperate. Kai’s terror surged, still fueled by the dream and the horribly familiar feeling of not getting enough air.

He took two more puffs, leaning forward despite his muscles’ complaint, straining with every fiber for as much oxygen as he could muster. The attack seemed to be getting worse, not better, his vision darkening on the edges. His fingers gripped the sheets tightly. A drop of sweat caught and snaked down along his spine. He shivered, still pushing himself to fight, to stay conscious. The medicine would work soon.

His chest burned from the exertion and the barely beginning to heal cuts, and he clenched his eyes closed, focusing. Several panicked minutes passed, but finally Kai felt the vice in his chest relaxing, and he was able to take slower, fuller breaths. He ached everywhere, he was drenched in sweat, still trembling from the adrenaline wearing off, but he was breathing. He was OK.

His shaking hands roamed his body, feeling for his sternal scar, for the old marks on his thighs at the same time his eyes surveyed the dim room. He could see the outline of his wheelchair near the bed, and the faint glint of his crutches propped up along the wall, longer and without the pins of the sticks in his nightmare. It reassured him he was back in reality, in 2000 and not 1988.

Kai couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt that viscerally terrified before. Sure, there was always an element of fear when he couldn’t breathe, even though he'd been battling it his entire life. But this was different. For a few fleeting, fearful minutes, Kai had _been_ that terrified ten-year-old again, a boy he hadn’t thought of in nearly a decade, whom he thought he’d buried deep in the recesses of recollection.

Still catching his breath, Kai shifted so he could lean his aching back against the wall, his eyes sliding shut. His chest hummed with residual pain from exertion and the cuts, a hand smoothing his left thigh. That leg was stiff, so much so that if he could trust his knee not to give out randomly when his muscles decided they were done being taunt, he wouldn’t even need his brace.

He could still feel his heartbeat pulsing in his throat, and he shut his eyes, though he knew sleep wouldn’t find him again tonight.

* * *

“Spill.”

Nikki jumped, but didn’t stop what she was doing.

“You’ve been cleaning that same patch of counter for the last five minutes. What’s going on?” Marge leaned on the surface, staring at Nikki. Nikki could feel it, even though her eyes were cast downward.

After a few minutes, she straightened, glancing around. It wasn’t quite five AM, almost time for shift change, so the diner was quiet and empty except for a regular in the back corner booth nursing his coffee. Nikki sighed heavily, but said nothing.

“If it’s that creep Mark you’re worried about, it’s OK. Clyde threatened to chop off his dick with a cleaver if he ever came back.”

Nikki managed a faint smile.

Marge’s eyebrows knit, and she folded her thick arms over her chest. “So if that’s not what’s bothering you, what’s wrong?”

Nikki shook her head, traced a fingernail into a crack in the counter, gazing out through the dark windows across the diner. “You ever been in love, Marge?”

Marge let out a barking laugh. “Once.”

“What happened?” Nikki asked, resisting the urge to go back to wiping the counter.

Marge sighed and snatched the rag away from Nikki. “He was sent overseas. Never came back.”

Nikki studied Marge’s face, but couldn’t read it. “He was a soldier?”

Marge nodded. “It was a long time ago.” She smiled faintly, as if recalling a pleasant memory despite everything.

Nikki nodded and turned to snag the coffee. She could at least refill the regular’s cup. Maybe convince Marge to let her work an extra half-shift. She could use the money and the distraction. Nikki felt Marge’s hand on her shoulder, and she stiffened for a moment, carafe in hand, coffee sloshing against the sides.

“When are you going to tell Blondie how you feel about him?” Marge asked, her voice soft.

Nikki’s breath caught and she looked up at Marge’s eyes, saw the knowing glint in them.

“Refills,” Nikki said quickly, gesturing with the carafe and ducking away. But her heart was pounding against her chest.

Kai had left her not long after waking up, once he was convinced the drugs were out of his system enough to manage the short drive to his apartment. Nikki had needed to let him go; she was working the graveyard and had to leave anyway, but the look in his eyes had haunted her all night, even though they’d been pretty busy with travelers and drunks and kids just looking for a late burger. It was a look she recognized, one she’s seen in her own eyes often enough when she was younger, and not something she’d ever expected to see in Kai’s blue irises.

As terrifying as it was, all she wanted was to cradle Kai in her arms and hold him until that look went away, to kiss each self-inflicted wound, to fuck him until she lived up to her sign language nickname and help him forget.

* * *

Kai ached everywhere even though he’d skipped his usual Saturday morning swim, the first time in four months that he’d done so. He was walking, but barely, and it had taken colossal effort to pull himself up the two steps into Lost Apple Books, relying heavily on the handrails.

It was early, and the store was quiet and empty, Art arranging some new arrivals on the front tables. He looked up when the door jingled as Kai entered, frowning. Kai knew what he looked like. Tired, ashen, barely concealing his pain.

“I need to talk to Renee,” Kai said, limping to the main checkout counter and leaning on it heavily in an attempt to take some weight off his legs.

Art abandoned his task and approached Kai, studying him for a moment. “You look even worse than when I saw you yesterday, kid.”

Kai closed his eyes and nodded.

“She’s in the back. Sit down for awhile. I’ll get her,” Art said finally in a tone Kai couldn’t determine.

* * *

Renee hadn’t expected to be angry when she woke up that morning. The night before, she’d cried until she’d run out of tears, then cried some more when her body restocked. She'd woken up with a tear hangover, her head stuffy and heavy, and instead of feeling better, she’d felt worse. Angry at Kai, at herself, for being such an idiot and being sucked in again by a handsome face and a luscious kiss. She already knew he was good at masking his emotions; it wouldn’t be a stretch for someone like that to be a good actor, too.

The happiness he’d supposedly displayed when he saw her yesterday morning could have been feigned. Maybe he even set things up so she’d witness the kiss. Maybe Diane was right, and the other girl--Becca?--had been an ex, and Kai had just been using Renee as a rebound--at best--or as a tool to make Becca jealous so they could get back together.

Renee took her anger out on a stack of boxes she was going through in the storage room, letting out a loud grunt. The tape on the bottom of the box she held split, spilling the contents onto the floor. A quick, reflexive hop was all that kept them from crushing her tiny feet.

“Shit,” she said, sinking to her knees to gather up the books, praying none had gotten damaged. Only her second Saturday on the job and she was already messing things up. She had to stop thinking about Kai. After all, he’d given up calling her after she’d refused to answer yesterday afternoon. If he couldn’t even be bothered to keep trying her cell, how likely was it that she (or their kiss) had meant anything to him?

“Ms. Poche, there’s a customer out front who needs your assistance.”

Renee dipped her head momentarily to mask the fierce blush that spread across her face. “Yes, sir.”

Art chuckled. “I told you: call me Art. And it’s OK. I keep telling that company they don’t use the right tape on their boxes. I’ll get that. You go on up front. He’s waiting for you near the mystery section.”

Renee nodded, pushed herself to her feet and dusted off her knees, striding past Art and back into the store proper. She struggled to compose herself. Her first few days on the job, she’d mostly been getting her feet wet, doing inventory, working in the background. Occasionally ringing up a customer or two on Art’s ancient cash register that seemed to rely more on brute strength to operate than anything else. But this was her first real opportunity to work with a customer, one on one, and especially after the box failure in the storage room, she wanted to do well.

Plastering on her best smile, she strode confidently toward the front of the store. The mystery section occupied an L-shaped niche near where the old part of the building met the addition, and a small table and two wingchairs were set amongst the shelves to give patrons a chance to sit while they perused the wares. Big-box stores kept seating to a minimum; you didn’t want to risk the customer reading without buying, but like everything Art did, his philosophy was different.

Her smile faded instantly when she saw the customer, long legs stretched out, blond head leaned back, eyes closed, a paperback in his lap as if it were a prop. Her anger immediately tried to flare up, but he hadn’t yet noticed her, so she took the opportunity to study him. He looked even more tired and haggard than yesterday, his stubble darker and more visible, the bags beneath his eyes deeper. Clearly, he hadn’t slept.

A flutter of hope tried to surface: maybe his insomnia had to do with guilt or worry over hurting her? The fact that he was here, bright and early on a Saturday, clearly to see her, rather than waiting until Monday, had to mean something, right? She swallowed. Got herself under control again. What had premature excitement done for her yesterday? Better to hold onto the anger and be happily surprised, rather than bitterly crushed.

Again.

She cleared her throat a couple times, and he stirred with a jerk, waking suddenly. Apparently, he’d fallen asleep. He blinked a few times, as if trying to fully shake off sleep, but he still seemed weary, a little groggy. He didn’t try to stand; instead, he gestured for her to take the other seat.

She resisted at first, finally settling on the edge of the cushion, primed to leave. She didn’t want him to think she was comfortable. He needed to see she was hurt and angry. “Can I help you?” she asked, voice crisp.

Kai sighed, rubbed his eyes. “I’m sorry, Re,” he said, his voice dry and soft.

She frowned, but said nothing else. Inside, she was screaming. She wanted to lean forward and kiss him again, but she forced herself to stay rigid, formal.

He formed his lips into what could have been a pained smile, then nodded. “Probably doesn’t mean much. Fair enough.”

“So explain. Five minutes. I have to get back to work.” A part of Renee cringed inwardly at the cool tone of her words, the harshness of the time limit, but she forced herself to keep her course.

Kai coughed, used his hands to push himself up a bit so he wasn’t reclining. “Uh, this’ll take more than five minutes.”

Renee glared at him, not making things easy.

He nodded, rubbed his leg absently. “Could I meet you . . .” He paused, his eyes sliding shut, his hands closing over one thigh and trying to massage the muscle. Either he was mentally reviewing his calendar, his nervous tic had expanded as he grew more anxious, or his leg hurt.

Renee frowned.

“Tonight? After work?” he said finally, stilling his hands and reopening his eyes.

He wanted to meet, to talk to her the way they were supposed to have yesterday. She wanted to say yes, again she craved another kiss, but she held it in. “Sort of did that already. Who’s going to kiss you this time?” The bitterness of her words surprised her, but she realized, from the fierce pang in her stomach, that she meant them.

Kai sucked in a breath through his nose. “Probably deserved that.” His shoulders drooped and he leaned back in the chair, looking somehow even more exhausted than before. “Becca and I dated a long time.” He hesitated, found her eyes, and she saw his were open, honest, but weary. “She wasn’t who I thought she was. She’s selfish and manipulative. She knew I . . . liked you, and she wanted to screw with me.”

Renee’s anger melted a bit, but even though Kai’s eyes told her he was telling the truth, she’d been burned already, and knew she should be cautious. “So that kiss . . . ?”

Kai shook his head. “I told her I didn’t want to see or talk to her again. I’m sorry.” Kai pushed himself to his feet with effort, and offered a semblance of a smile. “Tonight, nine o'clock. The sandwich shop again. I’ll answer any questions you may have.”

* * *

Dr. Miller pushed the door that led to the waiting room opened with one hand, juggling her cellphone and coffee mug in the other. She was surprised to see a tall blond man struggling in the door, leaning heavily on a pair of forearm crutches. He kept one leg straight, and seemed to be using his upper body to pull himself forward. It was awkward, yet obviously practiced.

“Mr. Fox? I was just getting ready to call you,” she said, waving her cell phone.

He looked at her, his face an unreadable mask except for a slight frown and crease of his brow. “I’m sorry I’m a little late. I haven’t been moving real fast today.” He nudged a chin toward where his hands gripped the crutches and shifted his weight.

Dr. Miller blinked, then caught herself and smiled. “Of course. My office is just through here.”

She held the door open for him, and as he squeezed past, his eyes met hers briefly in a look even her years of training and experience couldn’t quite determine. She knew very little about him, since the appointment had been set up with such short notice. He’d mentioned he’d had a double-lung transplant a year ago, that he had some other health issues, and that he’d been “shrunk” before--to use his words. Other than that, she was going into this pretty blind. She knew he’d be a challenge, but she wondered if perhaps he’d be a harder shell to crack than even she had anticipated.

“Thanks,” he said, then added quickly, “for squeezing me in.”

Her brows furrowed, but she smiled and nodded, opening the second door, this one to her office, and walking around to hold this one for him as well. “Take a seat wherever’s comfortable,” she directed him.

Once they were inside her office, she left her coffee mug on a side table near the chair where she usually sat during sessions, then crossed to her desk. She left her phone in a drawer, grabbed a pad and pen, and looked up at Kai, who had settled into the large couch, his crutches propped against one of the arms, one long leg stretched out, the other bent. He had his eyes closed, but his face was devoid of any discernible emotion.

She took a moment to study him. Deep purple bags marked his pale skin beneath each eye, and several days’ worth of stubble coated his cheeks, creeping onto his neck. His body seemed stiff and yet sagged into the couch, and he absently massaged one palm with the thumb of the opposite hand.

He had some faint bruising on the inside elbow of one arm, and he wore a rubber band on his left wrist. His arms were muscled and lightly freckled, but the loose, overly large polo he wore masked the rest of his body. Objectively, he was handsome and attractive, but it seemed evident he didn’t consider himself as such. Despite his best attempts to mask his emotions, he struck her as weary and filled with doubt. Or perhaps that was just her intuition.

“Can I get you something to drink? Coffee?”

His eyes fluttered open drowsily, and he wiped a hand on his cheek. “No. Thank you.”

She nodded and took her seat, crossing her legs at the ankle and holding the pad in her lap. Smiling, she said, “It’s probably already obvious, but I’m Dr. Miller. Why don’t we start by you telling me what brought you in today?”

Kai let out a faint laugh, scratching under his nose with one finger. “It’s still kind of hard for me to believe I’m here of my own volition.”

“You mentioned you’d seen therapists before.” Dr. Miller asked in her carefully cultured neutral tone. She knew psychiatric treatment was pretty standard for the first months after transplant surgery, but prefered not to assume and let Kai’s response speak for itself.

Kai held out a hand and started counting off on his fingers. “When I was six, when I was ten, when I was thirteen. Before and after my transplant.” He dropped his hands and shrugged.

That explained something, at least. It was clear Kai was experienced with how counselors worked, and was likely--if his manipulation of his body language and facial expressions was any indication--very good at revealing only what he wanted. Or rather, only what he knew the therapist wanted.

Interesting.

“So what changed this time? You seemed pretty upset when I spoke to you yesterday.”

Dr. Miller didn’t normally see patients on Saturdays, but after hearing Kai’s panicked voice on the line yesterday, she’d made an exception. It seemed hard to reconcile the harried man she’d talked to the day before with the stoic one sitting on her couch.

Kai’s placid mask slipped for a moment, and he fingered the edge of his shirt. Then he brought his left wrist to his right, slipping fingers under the rubber band there.

Interesting.

“I don’t like to pressure my patients,” Dr. Miller said carefully, “but you called me. You showed up. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.”

Kai swallowed, nodded. His eyes drifted around the room, finally fixing on her framed diploma that hung over her desk. “Can I ask you something first?”

Dr. Miller nodded. “You can ask anything you like, and unless it’s inappropriate or not relevant to your therapy, I’ll answer it.”

Her eyes went to his wrist, where he began absently snapping the rubber band against it with the fingers of his right hand. “If you have a patient who tells you--hypothetically--that they’ve been thinking of taking their own life, or hurting themselves, how would you react?”

Interesting.

She shifted in her seat, her eyes fixed on him, but keeping her posture and face non-threatening, welcoming. “If they’re serious about suicide, I’d want them to let themselves go on a 72-hour hold, for their protection. It’d also give us a chance to help them through the crisis safely.”

Kai nodded and flicked the rubber band a little harder.

“As far as self harm goes, if I’m certain the patient doesn’t have suicide as their intent, I’d likely encourage them to call me whenever the urge became overwhelming, and increase the frequency of our sessions while we worked to figure out why they have these feelings and ways in which they can address their issues without physically hurting themselves.”

Kai pursed his lips and nodded again. After a moment, he took in a deep breath, then pulled up the hem of his shirt. Dr. Miller saw the end of his sternal scar from his transplant, but what drew her eye were the bandages and gauze that covered large patches of his abdomen. After a few seconds, he dropped his shirt again, and he didn’t meet her eyes when he spoke.

“That’s why I’m here,” he said, his voice quiet. His entire demeanor seemed to have changed, his shoulders a little droopier, his body language suggesting shame and embarrassment, bracing himself for harsh judgment.

“You did this yesterday?” Dr. Miller asked, scribbling some notes on her pad but trying her best to keep her eyes on him as much as possible.

Kai inhaled sharply, then nodded.

“Would you like to talk about it?”

Kai lifted his head, looking a little surprised, before dipping it to mask his face. He reached back and cradled his neck, not saying anything.

“When you’re talking to me, I want you to consider it a safe space, OK? I won’t judge you for what you say or do. I want you to feel comfortable being open and honest with me so I can do my best to help you get through whatever it is you’re dealing with.”

Kai looked up at her, obviously skeptical.

Dr. Miller stifled a sigh, slipped on an easy smile. “I don’t know what your other counselors were like,” she said softly, “but I’m here for _you_. I’m not going to try to force you to tell me anything you don’t want to, and I’m not here to criticize you or trick you or manipulate you. I’d like to help you.”

Kai’s eyes drifted away, and she saw him shifting back into the faux calm of the beginning of the session, shutting down. This was going to be more difficult than she’d thought.

“This wasn’t the first time you’d harmed yourself,” Dr. Miller said, trying a different tactic, offering him an easy yes or no response. She normally preferred to keep her questions more open-ended, less guided, but different patients required different strategies, and at least until they could establish a comfortable rapport, it was likely Kai would keep her on her toes.

Kai took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. Finally, he shook his head.

“Before yesterday, how long had it been?” Dr. Miller dropped her hands on the pad, leaning back in her chair, doing her best to seem non-threatening, more like a friend and less like a doctor, hoping it might prompt Kai to be more forward.

Kai started to flick the rubber band against his wrist again, but stopped himself. “Since before I got really sick, before my transplant,” he said, his voice small, his shoulders hunched, again, as if bracing for chastisement.

Again, interesting.

“How long ago was that, do you think?”

Kai leaned back on the couch, closing his eyes. His fingers toyed with the rubber band, but he didn’t flick it against his skin. “More than a year. Eighteen months, maybe. At least.” He shook his head. “The last few months leading up to my transplant are a little fuzzy in my memory, to be honest.” He smiled, but it was more of a wince than anything else. So he wasn’t nearly as well adjusted to the transplant as the previous psych must have been lead to believe.

Interesting.

Kai pressed the heel of his hands into his brows, as if trying to push away a headache. “But I’ve wanted to. Lots of times.”

Dr. Miller nodded. “Is that what the rubber band is for?”

Kai froze, then glanced at his wrist as if seeing it for the first time. “Yeah,” he finally responded in a quiet voice.

“It’s good that you’ve tried to channel a less harmful way of dealing with things, but ideally I’d like to see if we can get to the heart of why you hurt yourself so that maybe we can work together to stop it entirely.”

Kai’s fingers curled on his jeans as if gripping something beneath the fabric. “I’m fucked up,” he said, and when he looked up, she saw the skepticism in his face. He didn’t believe she could help him. No, that wasn’t right.

He didn’t believe he _could_ be helped.

She pushed away the reflexive frown. “Why do you say that?”

He shrugged, and there went the mask again.

It felt like fishing. You bait the hook, lower it into the water, get a few tentative nibbles, occasionally a bite. But half the time when you reeled it in, there was nothing, and you were back to square one. All she could do was keep trying different baits and exercise her patience.

“Why don’t you tell me a little bit about yourself?”

Kai blinked at her, but otherwise, his expression was unreadable.

“Normally, I have patients fill out paperwork, forward me any medical files they feel might help their therapy, that kind of thing, before our first session.”

Kai nodded, as if understanding, and took a deep breath. “What do you want to know?” There was a hint of challenge in his tone.

“I suppose anything you think might be relevant to your therapy. Anything you think might help me help you.”

He grunted, and his fingers toyed with the rubber band on his wrist, but otherwise, he said nothing, his face revealed nothing. Jesus. She was going to have to go with specific, directed questions if she wanted to pry anything out of him, apparently.

“OK. Why don’t you tell me about your family?”

He stared at her a long while, and his mouth opened as if to speak, but then he seemed to think better of it and began to fidget, flicking the rubber band against his wrist, his eyes searching the room as if for an escape.

Interesting.

She gave him space, not pressing him to answer.

Finally, his face soured, and he looked at her. “My instinct is to respond sardonically, but that wouldn’t be ‘conducive to my therapy,’” he responded, ending in a mocking tone, as if regurgitating something he’d been told before--likely more than once. Before she could speak, he apologized. “I’m sorry. I--I have to remind myself I’m not being forced into this.”

“No. Like I said before, I’m not here to trick you into telling me anything you aren’t comfortable sharing.” _But if even a little question like “Tell me about your family” wires your mouth shut, this isn’t going to be easy._

Kai’s face changed again. It was unreadable, though this time it didn’t seem to be an intentionally feigned neutral mask; it was simply too complex to parse out its exact meaning. It was possible this kid would give her ulcers, but damn, he was fascinating.

“My parents were killed in an auto accident when I was a little kid. My siblings and I were separated. I grew up in the system.”

 _Ah_. “Foster homes?”

Kai laughed, but there was no mirth in it. “Kids like me aren’t fostered. Or, at least we weren’t. Things are changing, now, apparently.” He shrugged.

Dr. Miller couldn’t suppress a frown.

He flicked the rubber band hard against his wrist. “First, they separate boys from girls. You start in a group home, then they foster you out. If you’re like me, then you got sent to Calhoun County House for Crippled, Diseased, and Feeble-Minded Children. Or just County House.” He tilted his head. “And you stay there, until you die, or age out and are either on your own or sent to an institution for adults.”

Dr. Miller shifted in her seat, studying him. His face had slipped back to his mask, but his body language spoke differently. A tension in his shoulders, and the snapping of the band had become almost a nervous tic.

“So you never lived with a foster family?”

Kai blinked rapidly, and he looked away. “Like I said. County House kids weren’t fostered. Except in rare situations, and that was usually for the money, since the state paid extra for us, because of our ‘special needs.’”

Dr. Miller observed Kai’s breathing had increased, and his hands were trembling. “Kai,” she spoke softly to him, but he didn’t seem to hear her. He closed his eyes, shook his head, as his breathing grew rougher, harsher, more frantic. “Kai.”

She stood just as he pulled an inhaler out of his pocket and hurriedly took a couple puffs after managing a moderate deep breath between each. The trembling hadn’t abated; in fact, it had spread, and his breathing sounded worse. Calmly, she crossed to her desk, removed a paper lunch bag from a stack she kept in one drawer, then took a seat on the couch beside him, making sure to give him a cushion’s worth of space.

She opened the bag, twisted the top, then pushed it into his hand. “Breathe into this for a little while. It’ll help.”

He looked at her doubtfully for a minute, his shoulders jerking with the effort of keeping up with the quick, short breaths, but he obeyed.

After a few minutes, he relaxed, dropping his hand to his knees. His breathing had calmed, but tension still hovered in the air.

“How long have you been having panic attacks?”

Kai hesitated a moment, then finally pushed himself away from his knees. A fleeting grimace crossed his face, like his back was stiff, and he sank back into the couch, looking more tired and defeated than when he’d first come in. “I used to have them sometimes when I was younger. When my parents first died. When I was . . . ten. Lately, it’s only been a few days. Almost always after a nightmare.”

Dr. Miller nodded, put out her hand. He placed the crumpled up bag into it, and she rose, returning to her seat across from him. “Tell me about these nightmares.”

“They started a few days ago. Every night.”

Dr. Miller observed Kai’s right leg bouncing nervously. Restlessness, panic attacks. Some kind of anxiety disorder? Or maybe PTSD? The recent anxiety attack had been triggered by talking about the environment in which he grew up, and nightmares were often associated with posttraumatic stress. If she had more time with him, that might lead to something. But no. It wasn’t a nervous gesture. His leg was spasming. Apparently, it wasn’t enough for him to reveal that he noticed, and the braces he was wearing under his pants--she’d seen hints of them leading out of his pant legs--must have been keeping the spasms from getting too wild.

He saw her staring at his leg, and he braced it with his hands, calming it a bit. “They do that. It’s worse when I’m stressed. I haven’t slept in days.”

She nodded. From what little she’d learned about Kai in the last hour, she could tell he had been through a lot of life and knew, generally, how to handle himself. Maybe not always in the healthiest ways--as the rubber band and the cuts on his abdomen testified--but there were a lot worse ways to deal with trauma and stress than that.

“Until last night, I’d dream I was buried alive. Literally. Not in a coffin. Just in the ground. And I can feel and taste the dirt in my mouth and my nose. And I can’t breathe. It’s dark, and I can’t breathe, and I’m trying to climb out, but no matter how hard I struggle, I don’t seem to get any closer to getting free. And I wake up, struggling for air.”

Dr. Miller jotted a few things on her pad, particularly noting how Kai had started in past tense, then shifted to present. How his breathing had increased again as he spoke. “It’s OK, Kai,” she spoke softly, “you’re safe here. Try to relax.”

Kai nodded, closed his eyes, and took a few steadying deep breaths.

“So, last night you had a different nightmare?”

Kai’s entire body stiffened, and she could hear him swallow. He nodded once.

“Want to talk about it?”

There was a long pause. “No. Not--not today.”

Dr. Miller scribbled a note to remind herself to probe him about it at their next meeting. “OK. Yesterday, when you called--”

“It was kind of like a panic attack that wouldn’t go away,” Kai said in a small voice.

“Did the cutting help?”

“At first,” Kai admitted. “But then the pain faded, and I felt even worse.”

“And so you called me.”

Kai nodded.

Dr. Miller tapped her pen on the pad for a moment, thinking. “Do you take any medication for your spasms?” Normally, she’d have a full medical history sheet, including medications, allergies, etc., but there hadn’t been time for that.

“Valium, mostly.”

“Regularly?”

He shook his head. He seemed to have given up trying to mask his emotions, and now looked tired and, honestly, a little scared. No, that wasn’t right. It was more the look on a person’s face after they’ve been through a frightening or traumatizing event, like they’d just seen their house burn down and were standing in the street, huddled in a blanket, trying to process that all their worldly possessions were gone, and that they’d just barely escaped with their life.

“I don’t like to take it. It doesn’t help that much. Mostly makes me groggy.”

“I want you to take half your normal dose if you feel a panic attack coming on. It should help. Then take one-and-a-half your normal dose at night to help you sleep. We’ll try that for a few days and try something else if that isn’t working.”

He nodded and grabbed his crutches.

“I’d like to see you again. Soon. Monday?”

“Tuesday? Morning?”

Dr. Miller rose and checked the large calendar she kept on her desk, where she kept track of her appointments. “I have an opening at ten.”

Kai nodded, then carefully pushed himself to his feet. He looked ready to fall over at any moment from sheer exhaustion.

“Call me if you feel the urge to hurt yourself before we see each other again, or if you desperately need to talk to someone. OK?”

* * *

Nikki opened the door, surprised to see Kai, leaning heavily on his crutches. When he looked up at her, she saw a deep crease in his forehead, his lips pressed tightly together. His breathing was quick and shallow, though she could see he made the effort to control it. His smile was pained and forced, his eyes a deep, glossy blue.

"Can I come in?"

Nikki nodded, studying him as she stepped aside, holding the door open for him. She noticed he moved stiffly, with effort, pulling his legs along primarily with the strength of his upper body, his legs straight and stubborn. He said nothing as he maneuvered to her bed, sinking down with a barely masked grimace. She watched as he unlocked each knee, his hands working the joints to relax.

"I have work in a few hours," Nikki said, watching as he bent awkwardly to undo each shoe.

"I know," he replied, seemingly with effort.

Nikki had known Kai casually for years, intimately for months. She'd seen him in all kinds of moods, wearing an assortment of masks, but it was rare for him to offer a raw glimpse of who he really was. Yesterday had been a scary sample into Kai's obviously damaged psyche. Today--though it was clear he worked to hide it--she saw something else.

Pain.

She knew, vaguely, that Kai's muscles were unpredictable; she'd even witnessed minor spasms before, his foot or leg jerking against his will. She'd seen him stiff, grumpy. But this was more than that.

Nikki frowned and crossed to help him remove his jeans. It was obvious he was holding his breath for long stretches of time, like a swimmer, surfacing for air only when he absolutely had to. He couldn't keep the mask up as she helped strip off his pants, grimacing.

"Kai, maybe this isn't a good idea."

"I need to get them off," he said, his voice strained, already working to undo the straps on his thighs before Nikki had even gotten his pants completely off. His legs were unyielding, his feet twitching subtly.

She nodded, tossed his pants aside and focused on freeing his lower legs. After a few minutes, Kai lifted each leg from its brace, massaging the back of his knees, focusing on where the tendons stretched from muscle to joint. Nikki heard him hiss more than once as she gathered his braces and crutches, setting them aside but near enough for him to reach. When she returned to the bed, he'd pulled himself back, not bothering to remove his brace socks, underwear, or T-shirt. His eyes were shut, his lips pursed, his breathing ragged, recovering. The pain had to be bad if he couldn't hide it. But she didn't understand: why was he here?

She carefully crawled onto the bed from the opposite side, stretching out alongside him, observing the way his jaw worked as he clenched his teeth, the faint wrinkles around his eyes he was too young to have, the movement of his eyeballs beneath the lids. Nikki reached for his hand and linked her fingers in his. He didn't squeeze it, but he didn't pull away, either.

"Kai."

He opened his eyes halfway, but she could see the glaze of pain there.

"What's going on." It wasn't a question, Nikki's face soft with concern.

"Just my MLS," Kai attempted to say casually, but his voice was stilted and his lids slid shut again.

"I mean, if you're hurting this bad," Nikki said, not even bothering to sugarcoat, "why didn't you just go home?"

"Needed to see you." Kai attempted a smile. Then he shifted, groaning, his hands going to his thighs. He turned his head toward her, but said nothing further.

"Kai." Nikki frowned, even though he couldn't see it.

"I don't have anyone." He took a few careful deep breaths.

Nikki eased closer and smoothed her hand over his face. "You have your brother."

He swallowed, shook his head subtly. "He doesn't know me. He thinks he does."

"And I do?" Nikki couldn't hide the note of skepticism in her voice.

Kai didn't respond immediately. Instead, he sucked in a breath, pushed himself up and back so he was sitting with the wall supporting his back. (Nikki didn't have a headboard.) His face was still lined with pain, but either it had subsided slightly or he had recovered enough to partially mask it again.

Finally, he spoke, his voice quiet, "I'm not afraid when I'm with you."

Nikki's mouth twitched, and she studied his eyes, though he kept his vision focused off into space. Her heart raced in her chest, anxiety tickling the tiny hairs on her arm. In some ways, moments like these were more terrifying than even his mental break the day before. _When are you going to tell Blondie how you feel about him?_ Marge had asked her earlier. Nikki swallowed hard.

"Afraid of what?" Nikki asked hesitantly, stalling.

Kai shook his head just enough to suggest the gesture, then beckoned her closer. "Sometimes I think you're the only friend I have. How fucked up am I?" Kai's voice broke, he grimaced and swallowed hard, kneading fingers into his left thigh.

Nikki crawled closer, so their faces were near, the whisper of each others' breath echoing off their lips. She studied his eyes, multifaceted and beautiful as ever, yet atypically unguarded. She could say _something_ , as frightening as it was. Right now. She didn't know what had happened with the other girl, but Kai had come back to Nikki, more than once, and not just for sex. For comfort. No one had ever turned to Nikki for anything other than coffee or a quick fuck before. It just wasn't who she was.

 _I'm not afraid when I'm with you_ , Kai had said without explanation. He wasn't afraid. But she was. So she leaned in, kissing him. Hesitantly, chastely, before pulling back just enough to speak. "Can I do anything? Make you feel better?" She smoothed a hand over his crotch, but he didn't respond as he normally would. Finally, he pushed her hand away and wrapped it in his. With his other, he pulled her close, kissing her again. Deeper. But tenderly, without his usual hunger or desperation. It felt wonderful, but the fearful confusion destroyed her pleasure.

Nikki pulled back, checking his eyes again. "Do you have medicine with you you can take?"

Kai pulled his fingers through her hair. "Yes. But then I can't drive. And you have work soon."

"So? I'll drive you home, then take the bus."

Kai frowned.

Nikki sighed, planted a few kisses on the edge of his lips. "You've been too tired to fuck me. Or too upset. But we did anyway. You've never been hurting so bad you _couldn't_."

Kai's smile was faint, yet present, perplexing. "My pants pocket. There's a pill case."

Nikki fished the case out of Kai's jeans, then grabbed him a bottled water from the fridge. He was finally rolling off his brace socks, fingers working into the muscles of his thigh and around his knee. Once he'd freed his legs, he massaged his calves, and Nikki could see the muscles jumping beneath his skin, making his foot and toes twitch painfully. He was doing the swimmer thing again, holding his breath as long as he could.

Seeing him like this was unnerving, not only because he'd never allowed her to before, but because she felt helpless. Even the box in her palm, which rattled as she moved, seemed a vain attempt to help.

"It's going to get worse," she found herself saying as she handed him the box and water. "Even with those."

Kai opened the pill case, plucked two tablets out, and swallowed them quickly, offering a faint nod. "This is the beginning," he said. His face was grey, his eyes weary. He grimaced, and grabbed his left thigh.

"Then why did you come here?" Nikki asked again, sinking down beside him, surprised by the anguish in her voice. "I can't help you."

Kai shook his head, then gave up on his legs, lying back with an audible groan. He beckoned Nikki to him, then pulled her close to his body. "You've always seen me for what I am." She noticed he said "what," not "who," but let him continue. "You put up with my shit. You didn't panic when I stopped breathing. Or freak when I came in here yesterday acting like a junkie coming down from a bad high, cut up and trembling." His sentences were fragmented as he talked through his pain. He sucked in a shuddering breath. "And . . . you're always there when I wake up."

Nikki blinked, processing. For a long moment, they lay together in silence before she turned in his embrace, trying to study his face. He had his teeth clenched and was making an effort to breathe through his nose quietly, but she could hear subtle, barely audible grunts that were likely in tune with spasms she couldn't see.

"As opposed to Becca," Nikki finally said.

Kai groaned, but she wasn't entirely sure if it was from pain or in response. "No." He sighed, grunted. "OK. Yes. But that's not what I was trying to say." His grip on her loosened. “Can it just be enough I wanted to be with you? Just for a little while?”

She felt him hold his breath, then let out a barely strangled moan, followed by panting. Despite the medicine, his pain was obviously worsening. “Lay here a while, then I’ll take you home,” Nikki whispered, embracing him and planting a few stray kisses wherever she could. “You have to breathe for me, OK? In and out, slow and deep.” Nikki stroked his arm, then his side, before remembering the cuts and shifting lower. The muscles in his hip and thigh were tense, and she could occasionally feel one jump beneath her touch. Kai tried to obey, focusing on his breathing, and soon he’d drifted into a restless, drug-induced sleep. She knew he wouldn’t be out long, so she clung to him, inhaling his scent, her mind racing.

“I’m glad you came to me,” she whispered against him. It was the closest to three words she could manage out loud, even if he couldn’t hear her.

* * *

Nikki had dozed off, too, at some point, because she woke suddenly to the unexpected sound of someone screaming in agony. It took her a moment to get her bearings, to realize the harsh, barely human cries of pain were coming from Kai.

He still lay--if the word could be used--beside her on the bed, his body contorted, his muscles jumping, pulling his limbs in a dyssynchronous, macabre dance, obviously entirely out of his control.

“Kai? Can you hear me?”

His eyes were tightly shut, tears streaming from them, his hair plastered to his face with sweat. He opened them, and his breath was shallow, panting. “Yes.” His voice was a rasp, stolen by pain and screams.

“What can I do to help?”

Now that he knew she was awake, he seemed to be making some effort to contain his cries, or perhaps he was trying to save his voice. She couldn’t tell. She saw his jaw work, and she looked down. His legs were still twitching discordantly, but the spasms seemed to stay there and had subsided a bit.

“Bad like this. Waves,” he said, spitting out the words with effort.

Her brows knit as she watched him carefully push himself into a semblance of a sitting position, his face going chalk-white with pain as he moved, and she rushed to help him. He didn’t have the energy to shrug her off, panting from pain and effort for several minutes.

“It comes and goes in waves,” he said, finally, when he had his breath. His voice was still hoarse, still tinged with pain. He let his head fall back against the wall with a loud thunk, his fingers digging into his thighs, his chest rising and falling with effort and the occasional hitch, his face scrunching up in response to a spasm Nikki couldn’t necessarily see. His body had stilled, for the most part, the worst seemingly over. But more was coming.

“What do you want me to do?”

He breathed harshly for several minutes, then wiped his face with the side of one arm, blinked a few times. “Drive me home.”

She stared at him. “Kai.” Then at the front door, which was maybe fifteen feet away, but might as well have been fifteen miles. She was strong for her size, but there was no way she could carry Kai even a couple feet, let alone all the way to his car.

“I’ll manage,” he said, his hands testing each leg before pushing himself to the edge of the bed with a pained grunt. Wearing only boxers, he didn’t bother with his pants, braces, or shoes, simply angled his legs as well as his muscles would allow, slipped his arms into his crutches, planted them carefully, and heaved himself to his feet.

He wavered, any remaining blood drained from his face, but he didn’t fall. “Don’t have much time,” he said between strained breaths. She quickly gathered the rest of their stuff, including Kai’s clothes, shoes, and braces, and jogged toward the door. She wanted to be sure it was open, and the car, too, by the time he made it. He was making his way toward her, using a modified swing-through gait and focusing as much weight onto his arms and crutches as he could.

It was harder for him once he was out of the apartment, his legs looking less secure and his arms beginning to tremble. She wasn’t sure if it was fatigue, pain, or the resurgence of spasms--perhaps a combination of them all--but she didn’t waste time getting the car door open so he could fall into the seat, where he continued to tremble. She hurried to shove his stuff in the back, and she heard a hurling sound, then the splash of liquid on concrete, followed by a groan.

Nikki hurriedly crawled into the driver’s seat, because it was faster than rushing around to Kai’s side of the car. She could see his legs had started to twitch again, and he was reclined in the seat, looking piqued and drained. He barely blinked. She could smell vomit faintly on his breath, and the vacant, distant look in his eyes terrified her as she leaned over to make sure his door was shut before she started the car.

“Kai?” she asked hesitantly as she backed out of the spot.

“‘M ‘K,” he managed to say, followed by a groan.

She could hear his ragged breathing, his muted moans, the subtle sound of his legs as they moved against his will. She tried to talk to him, but either the pain was too much for him to speak, or she was losing him.

“Kai?” she asked him again at the first red light. His entire body was trembling, and his eyes were half-lidded. He’d quieted, and that worried her more than anything. “Kai?”

She lifted his eyelid, and noticed his eyes were drawn back in his head. Panic flared. He was breathing, quick and shallow, like a hyperventilating puppy. She grabbed his wrist, and her stomach clenched when she felt nothing. She took a few breaths. She was a waitress, not a nurse; just because she hadn't felt anything didn't mean. . . . A few horns began to honk behind her, but she ignored them, checking his neck now.

She definitely felt something, but it wasn’t the regular rhythm she expected. It was weak. Fast, but barely palpable. She pressed harder, and she didn’t get the expected resistance. This was definitely out of her paygrade. Cars moved around her at speed, honking, but she ignored them, fishing her phone out of her purse and hurriedly dialing Jon as she raced toward the hospital.

* * *

Jon rubbed his eyes and tried to focus. He was tired, and focusing on the complicated grant paperwork he was attempting to work on wasn’t going so well. Maybe it was time for him to go home. He needed to talk to Kai, and since Jon had patients in the morning, it might be his only opportunity in the near future. He had began saving and shutting down his computer when his phone rang.

He stopped before he finished going through the motions that would safely and securely turn off his computer to check his phone. By the time he got to it, the ring had cut out. The number was unfamiliar. He wasn’t on-call, and he wasn’t on-call for the fellows, either. Besides, they normally would have paged him. He dismissed it as a wrong number, returned his phone to his belt, and finished up with his computer. While he waited, he decided to check his blood sugar. It might not be a bad idea for him to eat something before he headed home. Though he felt all right, it’d been several hours since he’d eaten.

His phone rang again while his computer shut off and he waited for his glucose monitor to register. It was the same number, but he managed to somehow drop the phone before he could answer, and he missed the call a second time. He really needed to upgrade to one of those phones that you could set different ringtones to different numbers. It’d make things a little easier. At least he’d know immediately, without having to even check the screen, when Kai was calling, for example.

His sugar was low, not dangerously so, but enough he needed to eat pretty soon. He checked his watch, and decided he’d grab something from the cafeteria quickly. He snagged a syringe from his minifridge, checked the cap, and slipped it in his pocket, then slung his briefcase over his shoulder.

He was locking his office door when his phone rang again. Jon sighed and unclipped his phone from his belt. The same number again. Maybe it was Kai? Calling from a friend’s? He answered with his customary greeting, his voice slightly lower than normal.

“Dr. Taylor.”

“Jon? Kai’s brother?” The female voice was unfamiliar, wavering. Nervous.

Jon swallowed hard and began walking toward the elevators, then thought better of it, and bee-lined toward the stairs, instead. “Yes. Who is this?” Years of practice helped him keep his voice level, though his heart thudded in his throat.

“Nikki. I’m . . . a friend of Kai’s,” she said, as if she were pulling the words out. That couldn’t be good.

Jon sucked in a breath. “Yes.”

“Kai’s MLS hit him bad this afternoon. He passed out while I was taking him home. Something wasn’t . . . right. So I brought him here. To the hospital. They took him to ICU, fifth floor. I’m going to go wait, but I’m not sure if they’ll tell me anything. They’re probably going to call you, but I had your number from Kai, and--”

“It’s OK. Thank you,” Jon said in his practiced calm tone. “I’ll meet you there in a few minutes.” He hung up, and caught himself on the wall beside the stairway, bracing himself, taking slow, measured breaths. He could break down later, once he had all the facts. No point in panicking or worrying yet. It wouldn’t do anyone any good.

* * *

The ICU waiting room was mostly empty when Jon arrived, minutes later. A young woman in a rumpled robin's egg blue uniform dress sat cross legged in one of the chairs, bobbing her knee and nibbling on her thumb. She looked tired and nervous and worried, but even so, she was attractive, and Jon could see why his brother liked her.

"Nikki?"

She looked up, flustered at first, but she soon composed herself. "Dr. Taylor?"

Jon nodded.

"You two could be twins," Nikki said as if to herself, rising to her feet and offering Jon her hand.

"Did you hear anything yet?"

Nikki shook her head, and opened her mouth to speak, but her eyes darted over Jon's shoulder, and he turned to follow her gaze.

Kai's neurologist, Dr. Gates, stood in the door, surprising Jon. Perhaps he was the neuro on-call. Or perhaps things were even more serious than Jon imagined.

“Dr. Taylor,” the man said, his face serious, offering his hand. They shook quickly. He looked at Nikki, an eyebrow raised, about to speak, probably to ask her to give them privacy, but Jon interjected.

“Dr. Gates, this is Nikki--a friend of Kai’s. She’s the one who brought him in.”

Dr. Gates frowned, but nodded. Then he sighed, focused on Jon. “Kai’s vitals were dangerously unstable when he got here. We started him on fluids, intubated, and treated him with Pavulon to control the spasms--”

“Pavulon?”

Jon sighed and turned to Nikki, who looked apprehensive. “It’s a powerful muscle relaxant. Anesthetic. Used as part of lethal injection in most states.”

“And it’s the only thing Kai responds to when he has this severe of an MLS attack,” Dr. Gates added. “He’s still not stable, so we’re keeping him sedated and monitoring him for now.” He checked his watch. “The effects of the muscle relaxant should last another hour, if we’re lucky. We’ll see how he is and go from there. He may need multiple infusions. We’ll just have to wait and see. I’m hoping, within a day or two, we’ll be able to extubate and bring him up. I don’t want to keep him sedated and in ICU any longer than necessary, especially since he’s immunocompromised.”

Jon nodded. “You think his MLS caused his blood pressure to drop?”

Gates sighed. “I don’t know what caused it. Pain, maybe. It’s one of those one-in-a million situations, but then Kai’s body is not exactly predictable in the best of times.” A buzz emanated from Gates’ belt, and he checked his pager. “I’ll have someone page you in an hour or so, once I decide whether we need to keep him on the Pavulon or not,” Gates added with a pat to Jon’s shoulder. He hesitated a moment before leaving and studied both their faces. “Kai had some . . . wounds on his chest and abdomen--”

“Cat,” Nikki interjected quickly.

Both Gates and Jon looked at Nikki, eyebrows raised.

Nikki straightened her shoulders. “I got a new cat, and it scratched him.”

Jon knew she was lying--especially since Kai was incredibly allergic to most animals-- and he was worried about Kai now more than ever--but he admired the way she defended his brother so unflinchingly. He knew Kai would be grateful.

Gates’ pager buzzed again, and he seemed willing to let it go for now, giving Jon a look that said, _We’ll talk later_ before disappearing out the door.

Jon stood for a minute, pulling his fingers through his hair, barely noticing when Nikki stooped to grab her purse and sling it over her shoulder. She looked up at him, a hint of nervousness surrounding her, like an aura.

“I have to get to work,” she said. Then she took in a breath. “If they’re keeping him asleep with drugs, when they stop the drugs, he’ll wake up, right?”

Jon didn’t answer immediately, wondering if he should ask Nikki about Kai’s wounds, but decided it would be a topic better broached with his brother himself. “Basically.”

She nibbled her lip, shifted her bag, then looked up at Jon. “Would you--could you--call me when they’re going to wake him up?”

Jon studied her, his eyes guarded. But he saw in hers a mixture of worry and concern and maybe--even love. It was a look he recognized well; he’d seen it often enough in the mirror in the months before Kai’s transplant. Either Kai had lied to him about the seriousness of his relationship with this girl--which Jon wouldn’t put past his brother--or Kai didn’t realize.

This girl cared about Kai deeply.

“Of course,” Jon said at last.

A look of relief and gratitude swept over the girl’s features, and for the first time, Jon realized she was older than she’d seemed, somewhere between 25 and 30. Perhaps more his contemporary than his brother’s. After what happened with Becca, it made Jon feel a little better to know there was someone besides himself to defend Kai, to worry about him, to want to be there when he woke up.

“Cat, huh,” Jon said as she turned to leave.

She froze for the briefest of moments before shrugging a single shoulder and glancing over at Jon. Then she turned and got close enough Jon could smell her, a mixture of fruit and lust, making his body react in ways totally inappropriate to the current situation.

“Kai’s . . .” she struggled to find a way to express herself. “He feels . . . lost. Alone,” she finally settled for. She stepped back, offered a faint smile. “If you ever come by the diner, coffee’s on me. Pie, too, if you like it as much as Kai.”

Jon watched her go, then forced himself to head down the hall toward Kai’s room.

* * *

Diane was curled up on the couch, absently channel surfing when Renee came in. She didn’t need to ask how things had gone; she could tell immediately by her roommate’s body language. She muted the TV, tossed the remote aside, and opened her arms. Renee shuffled across the floor and threw herself into the hug.

“He stood me up,” she muttered. She wasn’t crying, exactly, but her voice was thick, and when she pulled back, Diane could see Renee’s eyes were puffy.

She bit back a sigh. “I’m sorry.”

Renee frowned. “It’s OK. You can tell me ‘I told you so.’”

Diane carefully stroked Renee’s hair, avoiding tangling or pulling the curls. “I did tell you so. This guy is gorgeous, right? Beautiful men are trouble. Just ask my mother.”

A shade of a smile stole across Renee’s face.

“The guy kisses you. Disappears. Reappears. Kisses another girl. Begs your forgiveness, but insists he has to ‘explain later,’ then is a no-show. He’s playing you.”

Renee blew out a breath. “I don’t know. You didn’t see him yesterday. Or this morning. I just wonder if something happened.”

Diane let out a snorting laugh. “All part of the act. That’s how he reels you in. So when he shows up later--and he will--all apologetic, with some story about how his pet llama died, and it was given to him by his mother when she was on her deathbed and it’s the only thing he had left to remember her by--you’ll eat it right up.”

“But when you call his phone, it asks you to call his brother if it’s urgent. You don’t think that’s strange?”

Diane shrugged a single shoulder. “Maybe his brother’s in on it. Maybe they fuck the girls together.”

“Jesus, Diane.”

She laughed. “Forget about him. All right? It was a crush, he hurt you, you’re over it, end of story. Moving on.”

Renee nodded weakly. “Moving on.”

* * *

Jon spent over half his week treating patients in ICU. Although now that he was no longer a fellow he focused primarily on respiratory patients--FS, severe asthma, emphysema, ARDS--all the critical-care nurses knew him, and he knew them. That didn’t make it any easier to stroll the few feet from the ICU waiting room to the small room where he knew his brother lay.

“Dr. Taylor?” One of them--a young nurse named Alice, not much older than his brother--called out as he passed her station. In this part of ICU, the ratio of nurses to patients was 1:2, with each nurse parked in front of computer screens at a desk directly across from the glass-fronted, doorless cubes that passed for rooms, making it easy for them to rush in and take care of hypercritical patients when necessary. “Dr. Taylor?”

Jon froze; he’d been walking on autopilot, and hadn’t heard her immediately. He turned to her, waiting, his eyes drifting down the hall, where he knew Kai was.

“I didn’t think you were on schedule tonight.”

“I’m not.” Then he glanced down at himself and realized he was still wearing his white coat.

Her brows furrowed. “Kai?”

Jon nodded.

Alice frowned. “Rejection?”

Jon shook his head. “We’re not sure what it is right now.”

“He’ll be fine,” she said confidently, with a reassuring smile. Alice was tall but well proportioned, with dirty-blond hair she often teased into curls. She nearly always wore brightly colored and printed scrubs, and despite the environment, was bubbly and friendly. Jon always thought she’d be better off in peds than ICU, but she was good at her job. In fact, one of the better critical-care nurses they had on staff, despite her youth.

“Thanks, Alice.”

Alice looked like she was going to say something, but then just smiled and returned to her station. Jon was grateful, walking toward his brother’s room in relative silence, for the sounds of the ward filtering in around him: the click of keyboards, the soft whisper of nurses speaking to one another, the hiss of respirators, and beep of monitors all weaving together into a familiar, reassuring hum.

When Jon reached Kai’s room, he stopped in the doorway. Despite his experience with ICU patients, despite _knowing_ that this situation was different, seeing his brother unconscious, not breathing on his own, made Jon’s hands tremble. It wasn’t the same room. It wasn’t even the same floor. The machines were different. Kai looked different.

Yet Jon couldn’t help seeing his brother the way he’d been over a year ago, before the transplant, when things had looked almost hopeless, and Jon had begged, _begged_ the God he barely believed in to do something, to bring his brother back to him.

Jon’s stomach roiled, and he was barely able to keep himself together as he made his way into the room toward the machines. Maybe if he looked at this clinically, studied the numbers, the settings on the respirator, he could convince himself Kai would be OK. That the worst was behind him. This was just a fluke.

Staring at the mode, the oxygen percentage, and saturation on the respirator’s screen didn’t change the fact that it wasn’t just some patient lying in the bed beside him.

It was Kai. His brother.

Jon forced himself to look. Kai was pale and so, so still. When Jon took his brother’s hand, it was cool and clammy, and Jon had to stretch his opposite hand toward the wall and dip his head, measuring his breathing to keep himself calm and his stomach from asserting itself.

After a few minutes, he regained control over his emotions and smoothed a hand over his brother’s forehead, trying to ignore the endotracheal and orogastric tubes protruding from Kai’s mouth. Then, carefully, he turned back the blanket and lifted Kai’s gown. It didn’t take long to see a few of the marks Dr. Gates had mentioned. There were so many, Jon thought, but he quickly re-covered his brother. With his blood pressure still low, Kai’s body had to work hard enough to maintain basal temperature; Jon didn’t want to leave his skin exposed anymore than necessary.

“Dammit, Kai. I’m sorry,” Jon whispered, taking up his brother’s limp hand again. Even if he could somehow become a sign language savant in the next few days, it wouldn’t change anything, Jon thought bitterly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Please let me know by leaving a kudos or comment if you enjoyed this and want to see more!  
> -What did you like best?  
> -Who is your favorite character?  
> -What do you hope happens next?
> 
> I respond to all comments, and don't mind anons (as long as you're polite).
> 
> Or hit me up on tumblr @plague-of-insomnia if you'd prefer to send me asks there (anon is fine)!
> 
> You can see more of my original work on my site, http://chiealeman.com/


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